Together forever, and doing OK (sometimes).
Over the years, I have lived on and off with a hairy man. This thing about wanting follicles wherever they can grow possibly has to do with that small part of the male brain that has not evolved from the time homo sapiens first stood upright. Women, being on the faster tract of civilization and fashion, decided that if men wanted to mate, they had to nix some of that hair and start to smell nice. Women also wanted them to put on pants. Shirts, for men under 30, were optional. Men, feeling warmer with animal skins and wool sweaters, gradually gave into the female's demands due to the human species needing to survive. However, some hair on the face, in different styles, has remained part of the masculine need to howl with the wolf and to show their dominating force of virility. We women have accepted it, loved, and hated it, but mostly put up with it.
Hubby would grow a manly beard in winter when he was young. I didn't complain too much. I knew he was vain and as soon as the spring sun would shine, his need for a perfect tan would take over and then the shaver would be used. In the past fifteen or so years, he has remained clean faced. Last November, though, he started sprouting stubble again. It grew into a beautiful white beard, always neatly trimmed and looking impeccable. He looked younger, more sophisticated and like a member of Mensa. He might have even grown an inch. Yeah, I love the look of my manly old man. Some things do improve with age!
