This bit appeared before in a more polished form, somewhere else, but that was a LONG time ago and I wrote the thing so it’s mine anyway. What do you expect on a Sunday? Something new and exciting?
When I first met my future husband he was a fresh-faced blue-eyed Irishman with tousled reddish-brown hair, a wicked sense of humor and a guitar hanging off his shoulder. Those who know me realize that this is a lethal combination with the knockout punch coming from the guitar. It was only within a couple of weeks of knowing him that I found out he could do something that none of my previous boyfriends (including the one I had at the time) were ever able to do. No, gutter snipe not that.
Grow a full beard.
Not that crappy sparse pseudo-scruff peach fuzz that men so often try to pass off as facial hair. I’m talking full bushy mountain man splendidness. A face full of dangerous growth, like convicts and people without access to civilization (or a razor) have.
Isn’t is some sort of universal dark secret fantasy to be ravaged by a bearded lumberjack?
Just like in the movies where the filthy hooker bit is so much more palatable with the black push up bra as opposed to the sweatpants and tee-shirt, the dirty talk and rough stuff seem to have so much more gravitas when the guys are rockin’ the full beard. God, did I just say that?
What is it about the rough necks and deviant rockers that have us all aflutter? Maybe this half imagined blue-collar stud is so appealing due to our propensity toward a safe and sentient lifestyle. I’ve dated my share of white collared namby pambys so perhaps the calloused hands of the logger or rock and roll star are a welcome distraction from the button and paper pushers who are so much more a part of everyday life.
Aside from the face burn you would be sporting as an undesirable side effect, there is no denying the appeal of the surly rebel and hardworking logger. (not sure why I made him a logger as opposed to say, a forest fireman?)
I happened to luck out in that my hubby is also quite smart and spends nearly half his day correcting my strange misconceptions about life and showing me how things work. Including but not limited to, my iPhone, the stove, the mixer, electricity, plumbing, my car, and my favorite- the vacuum.
His rock and roll days are fewer and far between now that houses, children with tuition and pets are in the picture but he does make time to strap on the guitar now and then. That’s when I can pretend that he’s a mountain man rock star and I can devolve into the super groupie we all know and love.