Pandemic facial hair during COVID
My dad has always told me to keep my facial hair trimmed. He has a great goatee, but I’m not quite to that point yet. To say my facial hair is spotty is an understatement.
I can’t recall exactly when my father told me I needed to start shaving. I was probably in middle school when my “peach fuzz” grew into corn husks.
Dad said it’s important to keep one’s facial hair looking neat. But even though he raised me up on that premise, he never knew we’d one day live in a world where people just don’t care anymore.
Since the pandemic began, I’ve become the master of the mask-stache. That’s right: mask-stache.
In the age of the coronavirus, people often have to wear masks in public places. Very rarely can we ever remove our face coverings when we’re around large crowds. Nobody can see a person’s facial hair. So, with our faces covered, what’s the problem with letting our cover crops grow?
When I was trapped inside my house in the spring, relegated only to completing college coursework, I had no reason to break out my razors and shaving cream. Who was going to see me? Who did I have to impress? Sure, Mom probably didn’t like coming home and seeing her son looking scraggly. But I already have a face only Mother could love, so what’s the big deal?
I didn’t have to go to many “virtual” classes. Maybe one or two every other week. I’d usually forget about these until the last minute. I’d run to my computer about 30 seconds before the lecture started and hurriedly log in. No time to dash to the bathroom for a shave. Mask-stache will have to do.
Some days, people probably noticed my mask-stache. But a lot of them were donning their own quarantine cuts – or complete lack thereof. Everybody looked like crap. Heck, one guy “Zoomed” into class wearing a rather revealing V-neck T-shirt one day. Judging from what we saw, I’d say that ‘V’ was a large, capital letter in bold type. It was big. It was open. And to say the very least, it was a hairy situation.
Chest hair. Head hair. Facial hair. With the coronavirus in the air, we just don’t care about our hair – no matter where.
Some of you who are reading this lived through the 1970s. Is this a trip back in time for you? A recurring nightmare? You tell me.
From time to time, I’ll shave off my mask-stache. But it’s getting harder to say “Goodbye” to my furry friend. He’s always there to catch those last few drops of milk from my glass at breakfast. It’s nice to have them at my disposal. Nothing like seconds.
And cookie crumbs? Mmm-hmm. Those guys hang around all day.
This mask-stache is pretty helpful. That’s why I hate to cut it out of my life – and off of my face.
Maybe this whole “mask” business isn’t so bad after all. We don’t always get to see people’s faces, which is sad. But under this typist’s face covering, there isn’t any sorrow.
This face is rockin’ the mask-stache.
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