Monday, January 26, 2009

Amazingly, never once have I felt compelled to photodocument the shaving of my legs

There are some things about men that you just never know until you marry one. For instance, men are almost as obsessed with hair as we are.

It's true. I have heard Walker discuss it at long length with his friend Reagan. Conversations like, "You know John Durie? Elder?" "Oh yeah. Great hair. Greaaaat hair. That man - (sigh). Good hair." They have even been known to email each other hair updates regarding their personal hair heroes, as BooMama would put it.

Walker's hair hero? This guy.

First Runner Up, or shall we say, Vice President:

(Walker swears that hair knows no politics. Pure coincidence, claims he.)

So, it is no surprise that the obsession extends to the face as well.

Ever so often, usually after an extended holiday (eg, Christmas) Walker will grow a beard. I hate it. Why? For the same reason I hate kissing cacti. It hurts. Now, that is a hypothetical of course, because I have never actually kissed a cactus. And for the two, three weeks that my husband is covered in a prickly display of his manhood, he receives about as much lovin as the aloe vera on my kitchen window sill does.

Eventually he decides that The Testosterone Show has run it's course, and, hopefully, misses his wife's kisses, and he shaves it.

Only he can't just go shave it like a normal person. Oh no. The demise of the beard warrants just as much fanfare as its growth.

And so, last week, he handed me the camera and asked me to engage in some photojournalism. Of the stages of his shaving.

However could I resist.


Here he is, displaying his man fur in all its glory.
That look in his eyes is loneliness. I am serious, each whisker is like a teeny tiny needle on my delicate skin. His choice, I tell him. Repeatedly.
He's lonely, but he's proud.

Stage 1. He just shaves the chin.
Kids, meet your friendly neighborhood drug dealer.

Stage three.
Bow, chicka bow bow.
We call this look: creepy longshoreman.
Very, very creepy.

Stage four, complete with costume change.
Words can barely express.
But, let's try.
"Walker, Texas Nazi."

Finally, FINALLY, the after.

Silky smooth cheeks.
He is rewarded with a kiss.


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