Hubby shaved his beard today. I was sad to see it go. He hasn’t had a beard in years, and this one was off to a good start. The only reason he had it was because, while he was away, he had a couple of wisdom teeth pulled, and that side of his face hurt too much to shave. So by the time he came home, he already had several days’ growth, and I just loved it! The last time he had a beard was when we got engaged, and I have such fond memories of the two of us at that time. One of my favorite pictures of us is from right after we got engaged, and he looks so handsome.
I’ve always had a thing for beards. My former therapist would probably have a lot to say about this, but my dad had a beard until I was 10. There’s just something inherently manly about a beard. Something they have that we don’t. And since it isn’t socially acceptable for men to go around showing off their penises, it’s something evolution gave them to say, loud and clear, “I’m a man.”
The other thing I find incredibly sexy on a man, that it just so happens my dad has plenty of, is gray hair (hello, Anderson Cooper!). Hubby has so few gray hairs scattered throughout his otherwise almost-black hair that I can count them. He also had a few in his beard, which I was so excited about. He keeps insisting that his hair will not be gray, but all I ask is a little salt-and-pepper.
I have my own grays that I keep track of and have vowed never to pluck or dye: a couple in the back, a few at my temples, and three or four in the formerly-blonde streak that sweeps across my forehead, right where my hair tends to part. I’m proud of my gray hairs. They’re like badges of honor, the product of years of wisdom and experience. My mother and grandmother both fought with their hair for years to cover the gray, but I don’t see any reason to hide mine. I even love the quirky one, right in front, that, despite my stubbornly-straight hair, insists on making itself known by its defiant crimp.
I don’t feel less young because of my grays, and it doesn’t bother me that my future children will never remember a gray-free version of me. My hair is cut fairly short, and I plan on keeping it that way for a while. I’ve been told, initially by my mother and later by others, that short hair is most flattering on me. And I’m okay with that. When it grows out, it tends to look a little stringy and flat, anyway. But even when it looks that way, it doesn’t define me. I don’t think of myself as flat, or stringy, however that might manifest itself personality-wise. It’s just hair, which is why, if you look through years of pictures, you’ll see that I’ve had it long, short, permed, dyed, in braids or ponytails. Of all the things about me that have remained constant over the years, my hair is definitely not one of them.