A week ago we had a group meeting. My boss is giving a presentation, and he stops in the middle and turns to me. “You never used to have a beard,” He says, “You remind me of Tom Hanks.”
I think for a minute. “In castaway?” I inquire. I was once accused in an elevator of acting like Bill Murray, and for a moment I had confused the two.
“No, in Forrest Gump. He goes jogging. Lets himself go. Looks like a madman.” He says. It’s the most aggressive thing I’ve ever heard him say. And let’s face it: I was getting pretty hairy. Perhaps a trim? Well, the weather was nice, so I decided to just shave the whole thing away. As soon as I did, I remembered why I grew a beard in the first place. My head is asymmetrical. My head has a fine texture not dissimilar to that of a golf ball. My head is pear shaped. I have more than the appropriate number of chins. My head is perched upon my neck with the graceless clumsiness of a sack of flour sitting on a garden fence.
Regardless, the ladies seem to like cleanshaven Aaron. “Hello!” I said to one of the young ladies in my research group this morning. “Oh god!” She said, her voice thick with disgust in the way that a bagel might be thick with cream cheese.
The worst was Dr. Mo, a young lady of Chinese extraction who is in our group. After the group meeting, she pulls me aside. “Why?!” She demands. “I liked your beard. It hid your face.” She puts her hand on my shoulder, as though consoling me. “Hopefully it grows back, fast. Ugh.”
Damn you people. I’m just going to bring back the furious muttonchops, the way I like, and you picky jerks can just deal with it.