Slow growth forest. Or shrubbery.

I have the absolute worst goatee in the world. It’s true. I don’t even know why I attempt it. But every year, for some reason, I insist on it. First off, the stupid top part (I suppose that would be the mustache area) and the bottom, chin part (I guess that would be the “goatee” part) don’t connect—they are mutually exclusive of one another. Like oil and water. Or me and doing the laundry.

Anyhow, this is that time of the year. I’ve been “growing” it for a little over a week now. In actuality, it’s the third time I’ve attempted this feat, and at the onset, I actually had a moment of hope that things would work out – the hairs seemed to be growing more quickly than previously experience, so I was thinking that I was well on my way to an manly looking batch of facial hair.

Not so.

See, my facial hair simply doesn’t grow. It’s like it smoked too many cigarettes or injected crystal meth during its early stages of living on my face, and its growth was horribly stunted. It’s weird. Seriously. I shave every two days. And if I miss it, all is not lost, because the growth is so barely noticeable that anyone even comments on it. Seriously. There are women in Greece who grow facial hair quicker than I do.

Aside from the slow rate of growth, my face fur seems to have an issue with the whole coverage thing. Apparently, the hair on my face mimics the attitude my family takes on to one another: stay as far away from each other as possible, but close enough to maintain what appears to be a family “bond.”