Evolution of a beard

If there's one thing my husband is exceptional at, it's growing a beard. From teenagerism to 20 somethingness, E's facial hair capabilities have no limit. He claims he was born with a beard. And that he's magic, because none of his baby pictures feature a baby in a beard.

I know every man will be outraged by me saying this, but I don't like the facial hair. It hurts my face, and isn't my favorite look for E. For me, the beard equates his feeling on me wearing skinny jeans. It's alright, but could be better. (I do much better with a flare.)

After weeks of fighting the support of his jealous (and not as manly) coworkers, I think I got the E(gg) to crack. Mid 'Slumdog Millionaire', E disappears into the bathroom.

A few minutes later, my knight in shining armor appeared in the living room, wanting me to document the phases of his beard as it vanished at the hands of the electric razor. Behold, a tribute to my husband's amazing (yes, I'm admitting it) beard-growing skills.

It started off as this, but a LOT thicker. We're talking scraggly and pillow-like.

And then the mutton chops showed up. I've hated these things since the first time E sported them post No-Shave November 2008.

And then it just got weird with a fu-man-chu.

Then he did something that we refer to as the '23-year-old Ron Swanson'. Posing with real bacon, of course. And we threw in a picture of E with his Ron Swanson print, which does include the word 'bacon'.

And then it came to the final stage.

Our bathroom lighting was not great for picture taking, I was lazy and E was sick of pictures. So, I don't have a final product, but his face looks something like this.

But smoother. And lots more fun to kiss. It's really a win-win.