You know to be a hard-hitting journalist you have to cover the tough stories no matter where they are or what kind of personal sacrifice is required. I’m really lazy and fortunately I don’t know any OCD newsies like that. The level of mental mettle and acuity to write the ‘Monoblogs’ is akin more to the inside of a jelly donut rather than real work. Still, there are those stories that have tested me to the core, and like with any housebound bad puppy, they usually happen when my wife has left me alone for a weekend or similar EXTENDED period of time.
On one such occasion, the wife was spending your tax money aboard an Ohio class Trident SSBN submarine, trying to solve a particularly irritating navigational gyro issue for the Navy. This of course left me to my own devices for more than a week unchecked. At our wedding, when they handed over the keys to my heart (as well as the restraints), my parents sufficiently warned my wife, that this was a bad idea.
Oh sure my wife called me nightly on the phone and along with the obligatory niceties and mundane work re-cap, she would always profess her desire to get home as quickly as possible, but I knew better. I clearly had been abandoned for the uniformed lure of those dapper military swabbies . There was no way a lumbering bulky-hulk of flesh like myself could compete, without resorting to drastic measures to prove my undying spousal devotion. So without hesitation or care for what others might think, I simply STOPPED SHAVING for the entire 10 days my wife was away on assignment.
Hey , I know it was a bit rash and over the top but these were NAVY submariners I was up against, not some ’flighty’ Air Force dudes or those ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ Army grunts. As shocking as my testosterone-driven, primal act might seem, the truth is you don’t know the half of it. My sudden and seemingly rebellious ‘follicle farming’, was in fact only to grow on the ‘right half’ of my face, because I continued to shave diligently on the left. Since my teens, I had sprouted a full mustache as well, so I hacked off the left side of it too - perfectly parting it under the center of my nose.
Beyond the pure enjoyment of shaking up social norms and expectations, for my wife and all who dared to ask, there was a sincere ‘message to my madness’ . Yes, my brainy ‘grey batter’ had blended an explanatory batch of bonafide insanity, with just a palpable hint of smarmy cheese. So at the airport, when my wife asked incredulously “What were you thinking?”, I smiled my brightest half-shaven ‘chimp-squint’ and simply replied “I’m merely HALF a man, when you’re away”.