A Pair Me Smug.s

Funny story. I was texting Nathan the other day and meant to text "I'm opening a pair of IRA's". Well, the SmartText on my phone obviously is a product of the public school system because Nathan's response was "What's a pair me smug.s"
Texting. What a trip. OMG. LOL. :-)
Anyway...
I’m trying to think of stuff that’s been going on and there’s really not much. Anything after the last point seems anticlimactic.
I’m growing a beard.
That’s news.
It’s sure to draw a mixed bag of reaction. Mom will be weeping; brothers and old roommates will be laughing; my wife just roles her eyes; others don’t/won’t care. Today marks one week since I shaved and I think it’s coming along fairly nicely. It’s not like a nasty neck beard or anything – I shave up to about a half inch under my chin line; I’m not going for the homeless man look…just mixing it up for a few weeks.
I can’t remember where we were going, but this is how I broke it to my wife that I was planning on growing the beard. A little background might be helpful.
Early in our marriage (I say early, but it’s all relatively new) Paula wouldn’t really ask me to do things around the apartment. She’d just tell me what to do. And, as a 26 year-old man, I didn’t really appreciate it. So we had a little discussion and I suggested that she let me know what needed to be done (cooking dinner, cleaning up dinner, folding clothes, vacuuming, install another lock on the door, etc…) and ask “Which would you like to do?” All in all it’s gone well; Paula gets me to help around the apartment and I don’t feel like she’s nagging me.
The other day she comes into the computer room where I’m feverishly working on a game of Free Cell and says:


“I have a proposition for you.”
Me: “What’s that?”
Her: “You can either make dinner or clean the apartment. Which one do you want?”

I laughed because it wasn’t much of a proposition, since I was stuck doing one or the other. It was funny. (I ended up concocting a delicious broccoli-cheese chowder.)
Fast forward to Saturday. We’re in the car and I say:

“I have a proposition for you.”
Her: “What’s that?”
Me: “I can either gain weight with you through your pregnancy or I can grow a beard. Which do you prefer?”

Apparently the shoe don’t fit so well on the other foot, because unlike when I am forced to pick one or face serious – and because of the hormones, often emotional – consequences, she doesn’t have to. I took her look as meaning she preferred the beard. And it continues to grow.
I’ll post pictures to track the progress of this little experiment so all you can join in the festivities. Hopefully I don't end up like this guy. It's from JK Rowling's 8th book:
Harry Potter and the Jungle Years