Beard Blog: Day 78 for the love of beards

I was walking down the street talking to myself, in the way only a person who grows a beard to bring awareness to the enslavement  of fictional characters would, when I realized I wasn’t talking to myself. I was talking to my beard! It was a moment of rude and adulterated joy and my head wouldn’t stop spinning. That’s when I hit the concrete. My beard picked me up and brought me to the hospital. I think I’ll name him Carl. Later that evening we had a romantic bed side dinner of some over cooked broccoli, mashed peas with potatoes and something that looked like it was once a cut of meat. It was a the most memorable evening  in recent memory… which are hard to come by considering I smashed my head.

I came home with a box of chocolates. My wife exclaimed “Oh darling you shouldn’t have.”

That’s when I slapped her fingers and shouted. “Hands off those are for me and Carl!”

She stormed off calling me a queer narcissist or something. Maybe she’s right.

People do odd things when they’re in love.

 

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