Sunday, April 20, 2008

Beardy Ben

This was the week I accidentally grew a beard. I could have stopped at any point. I skipped shaving on Saturday morning, as we got up at 2.30 to drive to Stansted, so by bedtime on Saturday I hadn't shaved for a good 40 hours.

"Are you growing a beard?" asked Best Beloved as we turned in. "Ooh, please do ..."

So ...

It's something I've always resisted before as I hate being unshaven for too long. It gets itchy. But in the interests of science and wifely curiosity, I went along with it.

Some observations for the record, taking the first Saturday as day 1:
  • day 3: becomes visible in photographs.
  • day 4: can feel it at the corners of my mouth when I shut my lips.
  • day 5: becomes visible in my lower peripheral vision, as if a crumb was clinging to my upper lip. Annoying.
  • day 6: realise I have acquired the habit of running my fingers through it.
  • day 9: shave it off.
Some more general observations: not as dark as I thought it would be - more just the colour of my hair, though streaked with silver here and there. This either means I'm darker than I thought or the beard is lighter. Not as densely packed as I thought it might be; skin still clearly visible on day 9. Feels softer than I thought it would.

I may now play with Photoshop to see what I would look like with just a moustache ...


  1. So which day was the photo taken?

  2. You can't run your fingers through that! It's tiny!

  3. Or, you can run. Or at least stroke. Rather, one can - you can't.

  4. No fair. Can I?

    My beloved's beard status fluctuates. We're trying to find a length that doesn't give me beardrashy cheeks!


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