Maui – The Miniseries, Part VI

In hockey, they call it the "playoff beard".

For me, it's the "vacation beard".

A razor hasn't touched the delicate butterscotch features of my face in two weeks.

It's also, quite possibly, the worst "beard" in human history.

Imagine – if you will – a patchy thatch of scraggly stubble. The mustache portion curls down the side of mouth, but only about half an inch. It also doesn't want to connect at the center of my upper lip, like every other acceptable cookie duster.

I've kept a soul patch for as long as I can remember. It's really the only facial hair aspect that (normally) looks normal on me. But, after 14 days of neglect…well, just take your right hand and put your wrist (palm of hand facing the ground) to your bottom lip. Now, spread your fingers as far as they'll go.

Since I can't grow sideburns, my "beard" really connects to nothing. The bottom of my jaw is populated with follicles and so are the sides. And, for some reason, my chin seems to be the only other area of my face that got the beard-grow memo.

I freely admit it looks like sh*t, but on the plus side, it's one of the rare times when I can compare myself to …an actor of moderate acclaim.

It's a long story. Y'see, my grandmother's white on my mother's side and…ah, never mind.