“Oh my gosh, Chloé, you have to write that!” my friend energetically yelled through my earbuds during one of our many quarantine phone conversations. I’m not sure if it was the excited yelling, which I’m not used to experiencing in my solo quarantining, that compelled me but I immediately made the short jaunt in my studio apartment to my junk drawer. I quickly grabbed the first pen I saw, which happened to be the beautiful forest green stylus styled pen from The Pelican Hill Resort where I spent a weekend at before the world halted. I stopped listening to whatever it was that my dear friend was saying on the other end of the phone so I could properly put pen to the newspaper I found next. It was oddly satisfying to be bossed around and urgently told to write a headline of my own, of my life, my Chloé story.
As I hunched over, the words I wrote, in cursive, were “I finally kissed the beard and I liked it,” disclaimer: he did not wear cherry chapstick although his lips were the color of beautiful, brilliant raspberries and I will admit that a tiny bit of me as a woman was slightly envious of the color as I’m sure he did nothing to achieve this while I have spent countless amounts of cash to achieve just that effortless berry lip “vibe”.
I digress....or do I? You want to know what it’s like eh? Or else you wouldn’t have made it this far. HA! I had never dreamed about this moment. Unlike most girls of this era, I don’t ogle the hipster bearded men nor had I ever dreamed of kissing one. I prefer my men clean cut and clean shaven. I don’t know; it’s just my thing. Okay?
I, of course, brought up my reservations and irrational thoughts to some close girlfriends who were so wonderful in reassuring me and not judging me. One of them even said that I wouldn’t be able to go back to clean cut boys after I had my first taste of the beard.
“But what if I can’t find his lips?” I screamed into my pillow.
“After examining the multiple photos you’ve sent, I can see his lips in every picture so there’s nothing to worry about you’ll know where they are.”
I know, I know. Irrational.
“But what if the beard scratches and hurts my face?”
To which my girl squad replied, “he has a long enough beard so it’s not going to scratch you. His beard looks very soft and well groomed.”
I know, I know. Irrational.
My ladies were being super helpful! However, I’ll admit I still wasn’t convinced. In fact, I will go as far to say that I was terrified. I was terrified of kissing the beard. But, inevitably it happened.
It happened on one of those very few rainy and dreary days here in Los Angeles. I had become the pro hugger at this point making a hug last a whole night without a kiss in sight. However, on this not so fine afternoon a not so bad kiss occurred. By now, I had pictured myself forcing my lips to obligingly meet his (consensual night I add) but in all honesty I got caught up in a moment, the moment, and next thing I knew, I WAS THE ONE who was pulling his lips towards mine. I found them on the first go! My girls were correct! And the beard wasn’t scratchy at all! My girls were correct! I have actually had many more uncomfortable kisses due to a bit of stubble on my previous guys. The kiss was wonderful. I felt the endorphins that usually accompany this act but I also felt extra proud of my dumb self for finally kissing the beard! How had I been so anxious about kissing a man with a beard.
Now my story ends. It ends for many reasons. It ends because it still to this day is the only beard I’ve kissed. It ends because now I can kiss no one; thank you quarantine and face mask life. It also ends because this blog post must end.
To quote the clean shaven Jay-Z “onto the next one” (beard).