Alright, my friends.
If you've been following me for the many years I have had this blog (alright, six months, but who's really counting…) you know a few things about me:
a. I love bovines.
b. I have a baby.
c. Coffee makes me giddy.
d. I pretend to be efficient and organized.
– and last but not least –
e. I love bearded men.
Actually, let me rephrase that. I love A bearded man. His name is Stuart and he is my devilishly delicious husband. Here is he:
…yep, that's him. Sigh.
However, much to my dismay, I came home yesterday to find this:
A stranger in our home. In fact, I didn't even know it was Stuart until I saw all the hair left in the bathroom sink. It tipped me off to the fact that someone had done some grooming… and we all know that I only shave my legs about once a year, so it surely wasn't me!
It's twice a year.
Now don't get me wrong, I think my husband is devilishly delicious without a beard as well. I mean, frankly, he can't go wrong. Those almond green eyes, curly brown hair, beautiful teeth and long eye lashes. Sigh. *Pitter, patter of my heart* Okay, I'll stop. I promise.
But seriously. He's hot.
Okay, really. I'm stopping.
I already miss the beard. I can't help it! It must be its rough, burly, mountain man appeal. Like the kind of a man who is going to love you, and squeeze you, and then go chop down a tree with an axe.
Yeah, I dig that!
So the question is this my friends: