What is this vision that I see before me?
A beard, egads!
Has Santa come to stay?
But wait!
It is not uniform, all white and fluffy,
Must query this conundrum with no more delay.
For patch upon the chin has made this piebald,
A presentation quite perplexed, I fear,
Where should be brown, we have alarming.
Did you have a fright?
Oh, how ghastly, good lord, dear.
Passports pending, photographs are looming,
Some sample of the truth of your visage,
One cannot see fizzog for variegated,
And, lo, I see a problem, this mirage
Officialdom will ponder, quite as I do,
Whatever happened here,
Has terror struck?
Officers will mull
Much more than I have
And murmur under breath,
Osama, resurrected, wtf!
I’m only saying, darling, cos I love you,
This beard you sport has aged you in extreme,
These whiskers here resemble one Catweazle,
Not to mention itch and scratch unseem.
I’ve purchased brand new razors,
Here be scissors,
Aftershave delightful, just for you,
Me? Admittedly, I find this frightful,
Though kids all say it’s charming,
Little liars – that’s not true.
Who is this man before me, I be crying,
Here be yeti!
And whyfore, wherefore, feckfore, is it multihued?
The hair upon your head is not coloured quite so.
My eyes!
My eyes, oh golly gosh, have come unglued.
There must, I think, be reasonable ‘splanation,
Some sort of answer to this question, hereabouts,
I cannot think and you’re devoid of answers.
Has someone bleached you?
Have you been sheep-dipped?
Another problem, darling, lies in skin test,
Mine, you see, is delicate.
It is!
Snogging not an option with such whiskers,
The slightest peck but never full on kiss.
Though softer now, it started very jaggy,
My face afeart you’re hiding more of same,
Be a sport,
I’ll even do it for you,
Come back to me with skin so soft and tame.
You’ve trimmed and clipped and, yes, there is improvement,
So, time, I guess, is no issue for the task,
A daily shave, or two, you hairy bastard – smile – only kidding.
What else to say? Just really had to ask.
And do I tell you how to wear your hair, dear?
Such colours you have tried – and styles – I’ve squirmed,
Remember when you shaved it up the back, dear,
Well, I do,
Thought I was married to a bloke, a guy, a him.
You do yours and I’ll do mine, unless dear,
A face bereft of fuzz still turns you on,
It does!
Good god, why didn’t you just say so?
Give me half an hour – wink, wink – I’m on a promise.
Twenty minutes later, it be gone.
scottishmomus 