Over the gazillions of years women of all walks of life have chosen their mate by physical attraction. Well, some. Unless of course it was an arranged relationship like a friend of mine and I jokingly plan on doing with our kiddos.
For the most part, at some point a lady has turned to her friends and said, “Day-Umm.” And one of them inevitably starting free styling the lyrics from “Shoop” by Salt N Pepa, when in the company of their specific eye candy.
True story.
Big guys, little guys, blondes, brunettes, skinny, thick, prominent chin with the adorable dimples. We’ve all got our taste. Mine happens to fall in the, tall blonde blue eyed burly furry mountain man category.
However because of OSHA, my undoubted love for the outdoorsy persona of a man soon will be changing.
Every year the husband must take a respirator fit test.
This test allows him and others to go into under ground vaults and basically save the lives of fellow under ground crew members before help is available. The test requires you to wear respirator. Clearly.
BUT in order to pass said test you MUST be clean-shaven. MUST be.
This heartbreaking rule was rarely enforced under the “Good ‘ol boy” code of ethics that for the most part no one wants to mess with. Until this year.
I am positive I am not alone with other wives in THIS same predicament when I say, I saw my husband’s first panic attack. I tell him we are pregnant and I get a grin, “That’s great babe. I’m gonna be late for work.”
You threaten to remove his hair like Samson and its, “I’ve had THIS goatee since the 3rd grade! I will look ridiculous! Does everyone HAVE to do this?! I even have to shave my CHOPS!… I need a hug.”
Dr. Phil would’ve had a field day with this conversation.
I mean SOME men absolutely love their facial hair. Fine. I get it. But what if you find out you like a clean-shaven face more? … If I was saying this in a room full of men I would probably hear crickets right about now.
So with the gavel of injustice towards all prickly, itchy, and velcro lovers swung. The husband MUST be clean-shaven by Monday morning. He may plan a memorial in the goatee’s honor. I swore if my back patio was filled with his buddies this weekend sharing cold ones, and moments of silence, it was going on YouTube.
I have seen the weird progression in my little world of furry faces. When my dad came back from Vietnam he cursed his razors and burned them along side the bras in the 60′s. If you were into the chewbacca-esk of a man my Mama fell head over feet.
However like the Marine’s, OSHA has their, what MAY seem ridiculous rules, and they must be followed. Eventually my father gave up his rebellious side and became friends once again with his bic razor.
In honor of this monumental day approaching, you know I had to create something in memory of his ultimate collector of anything liquid. With THIS… !
I used a Vitrea 160 ceramic pen size 1.2 in Brilliant Glossy Black. Let the ink dry for 24 hours then bake it in the oven at 325 for 40 minutes. And now it’s dishwasher safe.
I promise Mr. Tiffee to love you for better or worse. Till death do us part with the moos. tash.
