To Stache, or Not to Stache

Every now and then I'll go a day or two without shaving. Sometimes when I've skipped two days, and I have a rather noticeable look at what my beard line is like, I'll stand in the mirror and have a conversation with myself. “Hmm. You could grow some facial hair, if you wanted.” Once I begin this conversation with myself, the next step is to determine what kind of facial hair I could adequately grow.

A beard? No, not enough on the sides for that. I then come to the realization that maybe I could rock a mustache. “Hmm, I might have a certain Ernie Kovacs touch with a mustache. It could be quite suave.” But then after thinking about it, I decide that even though I can rock a two day stubble, perhaps facial hair just wouldn't quite fit in with my general demeanor. I shave it all off, and I like the reflection that I see looking back at me.

Still, the thought of a mustachioed Andy haunts me. I think about it often while shaving. Sure, there's the argument “Just go a week without shaving and see what you think.” A good suggestion, but with my busy social calendar and meetings with notable dignitaries, one must keep a groomed appearance. But the idea is there, despite my fear to the commitment. There are only two possible outcomes for this situation if I do grow the stache. I'll either look amazing, dashing, and charming (not that I don't already), or I'll look like a sad dad at a 1982 soccer practice.

I'll have some time to myself, and I'll let the stubble rock out, or even on the days when I just don't feel like shaving. I'll look again, and I'll think “this is the week I will not shave.” Have I made it a full week? Nope, I give up and shave on day three, as I'm just not convinced that I would look good with facial hair. Whatever happens on my face on day three is just three shades enough close to “sad dad” that it makes me shave. Logically I know this is to be true, but since I sometimes don't trust my brain, I consult with friends of mine, largely female.

They look at my face with a deep inquisitive glare, pondering what a hairy Andy might look like. The response is always the same “You look good with a three day stubble beard, but facial hair would look bad/weird on you.” This only confirms what my brain has been telling me, facial hair does not fit the functioning Andy protocol. It's for the best, as I'm not quite Groucho Marx, and heaven knows I lack the ability to be a swashbuckling Errol Flynn type. I'm not evil either, so there goes my B plan of roaming the streets in a black cape, tying people to the railroad tracks, rubbing my hands and laughing manically.

So this is how it goes, I'll be lazy, skip shaving for two days, then bust out my electric razor to act as a weed whacker to my face. Truth be told I think a facial hair bare look is best for me, I don't have to worry about catching things in my beard. This allows me to walk around care free, knowing that no one is looking at the crumbs of food, bits of dirt, and tiny Dickensian children that are trapped in my mighty whiskers.