Sinister Or Why I Hate Facial Hair

Some women like facial hair. I am not one of them. Even as a little girl, facial hair always grossed me out. Its strange how sometimes childish dislikes never fade but deepen and grow unfettered.

My Dad grew a moustache when I was about six years old. I remember telling him that I wouldn’t kiss him goodnight or any other time until he got rid of it. I kept that vow until he shaved it off at the age of fifty.

What are you hiding?

For some reason, any facial hair but particularly unkempt (or long, I guess) beards really turn me off. One could almost say that I’m afraid of them. A man could be Hollywood gorgeous but if he’s sporting a beard, I wouldn’t go near him with a ten foot pole. In my whole life, I’ve only dated a man with a moustache once. And I hassled him to death about getting rid of it the whole time we were together.

I admit I judge a man harshly if he has a bush growing out of his face. There is an ex-cop at North of 54 whom I think is supremely creepy. I don’t care that he was a cop for twenty-five years; to me, he looks like the flasher in the park waiting to get his thrills from molesting children. Or waiting in a dark alley to grab some unsuspecting woman passing by.

I’m wrong, I know. I’m putting my angst upon somebody (or somebodies) who may or may not deserve such a label. Life has shaped me that way.

And when I get that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and my knees get jellied with unease, it’s ever so hard to remember that!


2 Responses so far »

  1. 1

    Ken Durocher said,

    Chris will not kiss me when I have a mustache!

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