India ink, Dr. Martin's watercolors and white pencil.

My mother bought me my first razor when I was 14. She hated my chocolate-smudge mustache and insisted I wipe it off my face. The bribe: an electric razor, a Norelco triple-header, the state-of-the-art 0f the early 1970s, ideal for sculpting one’s Burt Reynoldsian fu-manchu and two inch sideburns. I returned from the bathroom after its maiden voyage. Mum balked, “Why didn’t you shave?” I protested, I had triple-headed off all the peach fuzz on my downy cheeks. “What about your lip?,” she snapped. “What? I have to lose my ‘stache?” She pointed an angry finger back toward the bathroom. I’ve never had a mustache since.
My boy shaves once or twice a week. He’s completely unattached to his own facial hair and loves to scrape it off. He’s an odd boy with his regular short haircuts. No piercings, tatts, fohawks for him. I don’t think he’s square, just self-sufficient.

Posted in Art

1 thought on “Sundries”

  1. My brother (18) is currently trying to grow sideburns, one at a time. Everytime I see him, one is longer than the other one, it's like they take turns being longer. Weird. But he's very proud so….


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.