My husband does something very special for November. Not MOvember, just the month of November. There’s a difference, trust. You see, my husband goes hunting with his father, brother and friends in November in the deep woods of the far up north. In order to maintain a proper body temperature, Ryan prefers to properly insulate himself through facial hair. Namely, a disgusting beard.
Think less THIS:
And more THIS:
Because autumn couldn’t BE a nicer time for outdoor family photos. But not for the Higgisons. No, no. We get wait until after Hunt Camp- when it’s nice and cold and the kids are nice and uncomfortable in their bundles of layers.
And while we’re on the subject of it being uncomfortable…let’s pause for a moment and think about the ME in this scenario. Why don’t you just have me kiss fuzzy sandpaper? Same same. Really.
Ryan has always had facial hair for as long as I’ve known him. (Save for a brief period of time in which he shaved it all off and I had a heart attack because he looked like a 12yr old boy.) Truth be told, it was much worse when I first met him. But now…well, I find it less “edgy!” and “cool!” and the statements are turning much more toward the “eww!” and “get that thing away from me!” variety.
I’d appreciate a moment of silence for my sanity until he gets back from Hunt Camp and shaves it off, kthxbai.
And I’m sure HE’D appreciate a moment of silence at that point for the dismantling of a masterpiece of disgustingly epic proportions.
RIP, furry face. Until next year. When I will continue to mock you again. See yah!