Of Beards and Chops

For the last two months, Favorite has been doing this thing with his face.  He calls it growing a beard.  I call it the traveling vagabond goes rainbow person look.  But I'm totally willing to let you decide what you think.

What you can't see, dear bloggies, is that his beard hair is just as curly as his head hair.  It's bushy because it's curling back on itself.  Seriously.  Gross.

Anyway, he's been promising me he would shave it and return to his former polished glory.  So when he came out of the bathroom looking like this:

I starting praying for the beard to return.

Then I threw up a little in my mouth.

Thankfully, he continued in his original endeavor (after much whining, crying and begging to keep the "chops").

And before long, I had the Favorite I married.

And bloggies of the female persuasion, he also cooks, cleans and is talented in the art of house construction.  Cute and talented.  And no longer vagabond-ish.

At least, not for the next week.