There’s nothing more depressing than shaving off your vacation beard. For those not in the know, it’s the facial growth your husband, father or creepy neighbor develops during that week of sloth known as time-off. But, just like Cinderella’s duds at midnight, it magically disappears before a return to the daily grind. And saying goodbye gets harder every time.
My wife is pretty understanding and allows my hobo-like appearance in moderation. But, I’m sure there are many wives out there that chastise this ritual. Let me help to clear things up. The mentality behind it is this: ‘I worked all year for this vacation and now I’m going to look as scuzzy as possible, that way if work does attempt to call me in the boss will shake his head in disgust and send me home.’ That, and laziness. Sweet, satisfying laziness.
The counter-culture of the 60’s is long gone and so are the beatniks. But once a year our vacations roll around and, for many, it’s inspiration to let their freak-flags fly. It may not seem like much, but this step beyond five o’clock shadow can satisfy a deep-seeded need to stick-it-to-the-man. People want to get as far away from work as possible. For some that means a week at Disney World with the kids. But others don’t have the luxury of getting away, so drastic measures must be taken.
My most recent vacation was spent at home remodeling my bathroom. There’s nothing more frustrating than taking time off from work… to work. So, I asked myself: “Self, how can I feel distant from the daily grind?” The answer: ‘look as ungodly as possible.’ What came to pass was something no wife should endure, a week without shaving or combing my hair, sweat pants so old that three stitches held them together and the most heinous t-shirts I could find from my high school days (two sizes too small). I felt as though I’d been dipped in the waters of the River Jordan. My wife felt nauseous.
With summer breathing down our necks, many Michiana men (maybe a few women?) will have a go-round with our good friend Vacation Beard. I find naming him is always fun. My personal favorite was “Roscoe” who appeared during my trip to the Grand Canyon. Roscoe and I had some good times. He protected 39% of my face from sunburn and I, in turn, spilled delicious Tex-Mex cuisine on him. It was a thing we had. One tip, if you do name your beard aim for originality. Don’t go with “Hairy” or “Adam” (as in Grizzly Adams), you’re better than that.
Ladies, I know what you’re saying. If we get to sit in the lap of laziness, why can’t you? Well, if you want to play Sasquatch on your well-deserved down time, have at it. Toss your razor aside for the week and be one with your inner primate. The whole house can join in the fun. Get some fake mustaches for the kids, they’ll love it.
I should warn you though, don’t get too attached. The vacation beard is fleeting. Like McDonald’s Shamrock Shake it’s only here for a limited time. Eventually you’re standing before the bathroom mirror saying goodbye to your closest friend (literally). A clean shave normally refreshes you, but this one leaves you empty inside because work resumes tomorrow. Before the tears well up, take heart! The house needs a new roof and that’s, at least, a week long job. Roscoe, this isn’t goodbye. It’s simply, see you next time.
Published: IN Michiana Magazine, June 2008
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