Cheddar FonDrew

So … I grew a long beard. 6 months’ worth. It looked like this on Monday:

But this Thursday, I fly to Denver to attend a wedding on Saturday and … I just don’t want to be “That Guy” in Cheese’s wedding photos. But I’d put so much effort into effortlessness that I didn’t want to just kiss it all away so easily.

Tuesday:

(I dunno why I LOVE this pic but I fell in love and emulated the look for the following pics.)

Wednesday:

This day was the worst. Just look at that monstrosity!

Thursday:

This day was easily the most popular. Curly is ballsy and invited lots of intimations about Mr. Monopoly, Ringmasters, That Guy Who Wasn’t Dudley Do-Right, Turn-Of-The-Century-Strongmen-With-Labeled-Round-Barbells, etc. Personally, it was the worst day. It looked good ‘n’ funny, but the pomade I used to curl it kept running into my mouth and I spent the whole day with a chemical taste in the back of my throat.

Friday:

I slicked my hair back (what hair I have left [in the front, anyway])) and caught hell about that (“Zorro!” “Rico Suave!” etc.), as opposed to my crappy, blond nod to Gable and Addams.

Saturday:

Finale:

Big beard: Mom hates it. Friends applaud it. Coworkers comment on it.

This week’s change/performance: Out of 60 or so coworkers only 10 percent seemed to be “in” on the joke/performance (if you could even call it that).

I’m growing back my old 1/8-inch beard because, as the pictures attest, I’m a chinless freak.

[P.S. I'd have normally spelled "Beardie" as "Beardy," but for pun's sake, I went against my own spelling fastidiousness.]