The lair of the Male Lesbian

Tomorrow, I'm going out for a picnic with Louisa (my best man), her boyfriend and her soon to be step-daughter, Ella. Which means that I'm going to be spending a large proportion of the day with my future sort-of-niece person. I'm obviously quite keen that she likes me.

Louisa has taken it upon herself to inform me that Ella doesn't like people with beards and in fact gets very shy and withdrawn around them. Now, Louisa is a long-time facial hair hater herself and her badgering to shave is often the impetus for me to grow a beard in the first place. However, keen as I am, I promise to shave before the morning.

The problem is that my beard trimmer's gone missing. I hadn't planned on needing it before the wedding and, as we're moving house before then, I assumed it'd turn up. I don't like looking for things, when laziness is so much more fun an option.

So, after a cursory search, I abandon the idea of my trimmer and go looking for more... creative methods of beard disposal. The first idea I have is nail scissors. They're sharp and people trim their beards with them. I'm sure I can cut it down to a length good enough to be wet shaven.

The plan is good, just like planning to cut down a hayfield with a strimmer is solid in theory. The problem becomes apparent when I realise that it will take me hours to even do my chin alone. I briefly consider expanding to a larger set of scissors, before remembering that I've never been that good with hand-mirror-eye co-ordination and am likely to stab/slice/cut off part of myself trying. I could abandon the attempt here and wait for the morning to borrow someone else's electric razor, but I now have a thin line of baldness across the front of my chin. It looks like I should really have a zip there. Weirdness has never stopped me inflicting myself on society, but I feel I could have another go at being creative.

Plan C involves lots of shaving foam and my rarely used wet razor. Theoretically, low-tech should only cause me to pluck my chin-forest, but this razor can hardly be called low-tech. It's got 23 blades! And it goes at Mach 3! And it's stealthy! With turbo! And the foam matches it for an unparallelled shaving experie... oh. I've run out of foam.

Plan D. No foam, just the uber razor. It's a lot smoother than I expected, with barely any plucking at all after the first stroke. I congratulate myself for being on the way to a smooth chin, only to realise that the razor is completely clogged with hair. And has been since the first stroke. There appears to be no visible effect on the beard.

200,000 strokes later...
I have clearer a small patch of my skin. Images of strimmers and the Yorkshire Dales are running through my head, but a perverse desire makes me seek to shape what I have. If I'm planning on looking ridiculous, I may as well look ridiculous in the way that entertains me the most.

Thus, what you see here. A masterpiece.

PJW