A Hairy Situation

Two of the most important ladies in my life have a major conflict. You always hope that your mum and wifey-to-be will get along, but sometimes there are pretty major obstacles that get in the way of a harmonious relationship. For almost six years, this has been a major obstacle, and leading up to our big day, it could be even more contentious. So I have decided to end the debate here and now.

Some people like facial hair and others do not. It makes a difference I guess if you have to come into contact with it. Thankfully HJ loves it and has never complained even when I have gone for the Stanley Cup Play-Off style beard.

Mum however has not been Bearded Bobby’s biggest fan. Anything longer than a millimetre and Mum’s fading eyes miraculously spark into action even on the webcam, and a new shaving kit is ordered. When I make it back to Leeds and there is a welcome home kiss or a farewell kiss on my departure, I’m forced to pucker my lips out as far as possible to avoid any major bristly contact.

So you can see my dilemma and there is a compromise to be reached. I can hereby confirm that there will be facial hair on August 4th, albeit a shadow, nothing too bristly, but enough. Nothing too outrageous, but I am calling it now.

Shaving and trimming can be a pain sometimes, but I much prefer the facial hair to baby face. I remember being 13-years-old and sprouting my first little fury moustache, and finally plucking the courage to shave it off one day under the supervision of my dad and sister. They were ever so forthcoming in their help and advice, and suggested the use of after shave immediately after. So kind and thoughtful as they are.

Back at school, I was one of the most developed in a hairyfying sense. Nothing too monkey like, but I was one of the youngest to have hairs on my legs (apart from one unfortunate girl), and rather than revel in my maturity and masculinity, I always found it a little embarrassing. As soon as school broke up for summer back in 1994, I sat in the bath and impulsively decided to shave my legs. I thought it may make me look slicker, maybe run a little faster on the football pitch. And if I looked like a complete fool, I had six weeks to grow something back. Nobody warned me of the science behind shaving and that it tends to grow back faster.

I guess most kids go through this kind of stuff. The irony is that we are often desperate to get rid of it when we are younger and we are desperately clinging on to it when we grow older. Having a hair-challenged dad, I have asked two hairdressers in the last couple of years as to whether they think I will lose mine, and both have said not. Thankfully, I followed Dad’s advice for the aftershave, but got mum’s genes there.

So as I am reaching my prime, I am aiming for a happy medium and going for just a little facial hair, nothing drastic and nothing that will cause any facial rashes to any unsuspecting wife, mum, sister, auntie etc. But I’m calling it, so do not be surprised on August 4th. Hopefully the ladies will resolve their major differences and we will all live happily ever after.