My Sobriety Beard Sucks

Today marks the 31st and final day of my month of sobriety. The month has been neither rewarding nor fulfilling. I feel older than I ever have before, and am nervous that the other interesting me may take weeks to fully blossom again. It has been a depressing, joyless month, but nothing has panged my heart more than the fact that after 26 years of life (at least five of which must have been post-pubescent) I still can’t grow a fucking beard. I decided that while I wouldn’t be drinking for an entire month, I would also abstain from shaving. Kind of like a playoffs beard, but for sobriety. But after about two weeks of not shaving, it became depressingly apparent that “beard” was not going to be the propper descriptive term for what my face was exhibiting. It is sparse, patchy, wiry, and a very different color than the hair that grows everywhere else on my body. It literally looks like I shaved my balls*, liberally applied the trimmings to my neck and cheeks, and then went “Oh shit! Forgot about the moustache!” and then put like five pieces of pubes above my lip (my granddaughter will be able to grow a moustache before I can). While I am obviously eager to begin drinking again at exactly midnight tonight, my real excitement is being reserved for tomorrow morning when, throwuppingly hung over, I will shave this piece of shit off of my face. Burn in hell sobriety beard. You’re an asshole.

*I don’t ever shave my balls, FYI.