I am not Othos
I wish I would have smiled for my self-portrait that day, but I guess this will work. Check out the mossy-looking stuff covering the lower part of my face. Or not covering, really.
(Oh, I’m sorry; have I startled you? Is this too graphic? Next time perhaps you’d like a NSFW warning, or spoiler alert?)
Genetics has been kind to me in many ways, but she hasn’t granted me the ability to grow a manly beard. This picture reflects almost two weeks of diligent hair-growing effort, the longest by far I had ever “worked” at this activity.
I had to take this photo myself because my wife refused to look at me by this stage of the “infestation,” as she called it. My mom was already scandalized on the fifth day of The Growing, falling as it did on Christmas Eve last year.
I have a coworker that often refers to “Othos” in relation to his facial hair. (Pronounced OH-thohss.) At first I thought he had named his beard Othos, or that it was his name for himself as an alternate persona when he grew a beard, but then I learned it was an acronym. OTHOS: One Thousand Hairs Of Sexy. And he does sport an attractive beard.
I am not Othos.
But in the area of facial hair maintenance, I do have the fiscally useful ability to make a disposable razor blade last for a long time. Would you believe that since the turn of the century, I’ve used a total of eleven razor blades?
It’s true. I keep a record on my computer. What? You don’t? How else would I make the determination that it’s time for a new blade? Just because a blade is starting to feel “grabby,” that doesn’t mean it’s time. Grabbiness is subjective.
For a long time, I shaved every other day. This year I’ve started stretching it to every third or fourth day, to save time. (My frugality covers every dimension.) I would tell you more about the ways of razor blade longevity, but I’m afraid I’ve already shared too much. The people from Gillette have spies and hit men everywhere, and—
Related Post: I am Ohhoog