Last November, I started to grow a beard. This was not in preparation for winter or because I thought I could look like "Enemy"-era Jake Gyllenhaal. Actually, what happened was, I ran out of razors.

Inasmuch as we try to avoid any shopping excursions for any reason from Thanksgiving until after Christmas, I was unable to buy razors — and then I sorta got used to not shaving, which is, after all, a lot of work.

A beard sprouted.

Sadly, not only did it not look like Gyllenhaal's, it resembled, more than anything, one of those "Wolf Man" movies from the 1930s where the make-up folks basically glued a cheap fright wig on Lon Chaney's face. That, or perhaps it suggested Walt Whitman if he'd used his own free-range facial hair to incubate a field of mold.

Nonetheless, I continued to let the beard grow into the New Year. My wife Eileen — always supportive — would smile and say, "The beard looks good!" and then hastily turn away so I wouldn't see the tears that sprang in her eyes. I do believe there was no connection between the beard and Eileen's "quick routine errands" that lasted a few days instead of 30 or 40 minutes. She and the dog, Virgil, also started sleeping on the roof.

Finally, an anonymous box arrived — and it contained a batch of disposable razors. A Roman candle went off in my brain, and I thought, "Hey, I guess I could shave!" and, in that moment of inspiration, I knew what it must have felt like when someone figured out how much fun it would be if, as you open up a greeting card, a comical song plays!

The sad part of all of this is, upon removing the beard, I was reminded that, while the beard was admittedly a wretched failure, there's a lot to be said for obfuscating my facial features. Peering in the mirror, it occurred to me that:

1. My chin is sufficiently erosional that a class of geology students at UConn has asked to study it.

2. I stand a very good chance of being included in a new conceptual photography volume titled "People Who Look Like Rats."

3. Time and gravity are laughing at me.

4. As my complexion fades and my skin takes on the surface quality of an onion skin, it will soon be able to flawlessly hide my mine-field acne scars with Liquid Paper.

5. I guess it's time I learned how to spell "jowels." Or is it "jowls"?