Decisions at the Bar
I’m at the Dallas Eagle for the 80’s dance party.
I divide my time between my phone, the strange scene on the dancefloor, and my $1 beer.
This bleary-eyed guy stumbles up to me and starts running his hands through my beard.
“I just love, love, love beards,” he said. “Your beard especially. I’m going to go outside and jack off now.”
He leaves.
I sit there mortified.
I went to a few more bars that evening and my beard was grabbed by two more strangers. That’s when I decided that I needed a change.
Freshly shaven.
Bloop.
My second chin is on full display now, but at least I won’t get harassed at the bars anymore. Plus, the weather consistently reaches 100 in Dallas, so this is probably a better life choice for the summer.
Growing a Sikh-style beard was also a weird experience because I got hit on by a completely different set of guys once it reached a critical stage of bushiness.
Although the attention is flattering, I think I prefer people who are into me for my personality, not my facial hair.
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