battle of the beard

This morning when I went out to my car, I made a quick stop by the dumpster where I happened upon a nest of kittens. First, I died from cute. Then, I thought, No! It’s cold out! Where is your mother? They’d all scattered by then, scrambling up and over the wooden fence – all but one fuzzy little bugger, with whom I had a rather lengthy conversation about whether or not he/she was warm enough and well fed. I did most of the talking. Anyway, now it’s well past noon and I have spent the entire time in between worrying about them. The current temperature outside is… seventy-two degrees, but still, if the Dork Lord comes home today and surprise! Five new babies! it will not be my fault. I am powerless against fuzzy things.

Except one fuzzy thing. The Boy has grown a beard. For the record, I LIKE BEARDS. My dad has always been a bearded dude, and I happen to think they can be quite manly and attractive. I think the Dork Lord’s beard is nice looking. But is it soft? HELLS NO. It’s long enough now that it should be soft, but the underside of my nose is Rudolph red – even a kiss hello is a test of my love and devotion because that facial hair is seriously rough stuff.

“You have to get rid of the beard.”

“Okay. How about in a couple weeks?” he says, starting the bargaining process. “Like, I can keep it until the New Year.”

“How’s a dry spell until 2011 sound?”

“Oh, come on!”

“No, you come on. Look at my nose,” I say, rubbing at the flaky skin. “LOOK AT IT!”

This is where I point out that my nose is my one true beauty and that if he ruins it, I’ll never be able to score a second husband when I’m ready to replace him. This gets me nowhere. I’d threaten to stop shaving my legs, but I do that periodically anyway and it in no way deters him from sexy time.

Okay, maybe I am powerless again all fuzzy things. Because clearly, I’m losing the Battle of the Beard. Though… if furry legs won’t stop him, perhaps a basket of furry feral kittens will.