I broke down and got a barber to trim my hair and beard yesterday, after going a full two months without any major manscaping. The shit was getting bushy. In strange places. My neck directly under the jawbone was like deep, dark Amazon rainforest, while the area above, between my ears and the overgrown perimeter of my goat, was thinly covered. My chops were big fuzzy clouds.  While I’m sure most of the locals in Abu Dhabi didn’t mind it one bit, I really should have gotten it cleaned up before I left.

I went to a local barber and had her trim my hair up, and then we worked out a plan for the beard. I’ve still got one, but everything below my jawline is gone and the stuff up top is neat and tidy. It rounds out my face, which has been getting more and more angular as I get older. I’m going to give it another couple of months to see if it fills in OK, keep my neck clean, and see how I like it.

It occurs to me that my father was only a year or two younger than I am now, in 1981, when the family went on vacation, and he grew the beard he’s had until the present day.