Noun

Lathergy: (n.)

When you’re too lazy to bother shaving.

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I haven’t shaved in weeks. My face looks like a cat’s lounging pillow. Wispy, errant, and sparse.

I cannot grow facial hair the way most men grow facial hair.

My cheeks are patchy – two tufts of steel wool, the color of a doormouse.

My moustache is a downy wisp of a thing, barely there. A smear of meringue.

And yet, the longer I wait and more I edit (I’ve since jettisoned the cheekpuffs, leaving only the moustache and everpresent tuft of chin scruff), the prouder I become.

I used to roll my eyes at those baroquely moustachioed man-chaps… and with good reason, sure. It takes a certain kind of twerp to wear a 19th century moustache while talking on an iPhone. All those tiresome hipsterettes with their twee little moustache tattoos on their fingerside. Enough, I say. Enough.

But the longer I wait… the more I see.

My moustache… it’s growing fuller. Broader. I’ve never let it get so big before. So many Movembers and Moustache Marches I’ve sat by, soft-faced and sidelined. But now I see it, growing darker, potent, and powerful.

What I wouldn’t give for the chance to wear an even fuller beard:

A knotted viking’s warrior braid.

Or the conical stalactite of a Pharoh.

The Rabbi’s tetragrammatonic pour.

A Marxian riot of ashen whiskers.

O! So many me’s I’ll never get to be…

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