I'm Hungry...and Feel Like Doing Something Stupid - Grooming

For better or worse, I have never been too concerned with my appearance.

Pictures of me as a youngster reflect the beginnings of my lackadaisical approach. I looked like I was always three weeks past due for a haircut and seemed to have an unending supply of MSI soccer shirts.

My teenage years showed no improvement. I remember having two pairs of jeans and four or five "date shirts" that smelled like Cool Water.

Until recently, I thought denim shorts were a good look. (Thanks, Dez.)

As an adult WHO TAKES REAL LIFE VERY SRSLY, I'll wear the same collared shirt and color uncoordinated pants to work for three days straight. Unless, of course, I get soup on them. I am not an animal.

Well...

My beard is the most outward sign of my inner apathy, but I do have a limit on the lethargy. Every two weeks, I'll catch a glimpse of myself and wonder who replaced my supple face with that of a mountain man's mug. (Yes, every two weeks. Testosterone, I haz it.) The mess of trimming my beard is akin to taking a weed wacker to Chewbacca, so I save my shower drain the pain and head to my barber. Why not let my fallen follicles be someone else's mess?

Ah, that's much better. Actually, I don't really care. I'm just glad I didn't get any clam chowder on today's shirt and pants.