I Made You A Beard

Facial hair. It's a sign of strength. Of masculinity. Testosterone. My second husband had all three, but the man could not grow a beard. Even his attempts at a mustache were at best, um, pubic - little wiry hairs twisting out in every direction. Not a good look.

His last effort was this past summer. I dropped my son off at his place for the weekend. He came out of the house sporting a sparse little caterpillar of a mustache. It looked like he'd applied it with tape. Neal laughed and pointed. "Look Ma! Dad's Hispanic!"

"Donde esta el bano?" I ask. It's the only thing I know how to say in Spanish other than some really disgusting references to oral sex. "Si," He responds. It's the only word he knows. He may look Hispanic, but he doesn't hablos either.

While neither of us are exchanging Christmas gifts any longer, it's really all I can do to keep myself from ordering him one of these. They come in a fabulous array of colors and textures - one for pretty much any occasion.

I Made You A Beard. This is the artist, Erin sporting her Lumberjack beard. If someone in your life is in need of a new look, you just may find it at her Etsy Shop.

Look for a complete interview with Erin on my new and yet to be released design blog "Wicked Good Eye," coming to the blogosphere soon. Because she likes you. And you like beards.