There's a reason I don't usually grow a beard: I just can't pull it off. I tried a couple of times in Switzerland, but I started to hate myself, so I shaved it off. I wasn't trying to grow one this time; I just stopped shaving before going camping, I didn't shave while camping, and I didn't start again when I got back from camping. But today is the last day. The beard will be coming off before church tomorrow.
In Mormon culture, there are several tricks you can use to make sure you don't get a calling that's too taxing. Growing a beard is one of them. Others include occasionally not wearing a white shirt on Sunday, proclaiming even tepid support for any form of gun control, stating that you're at least open to the possibility that social security is not a tool that Satan uses to enslave us all in a culture of dependency, and admitting that you watched the Superbowl live.
But you have to acknowledge that I've come up with the best one of all: getting divorced. That's my get-out-of-calling pass for life! I'll be surprised if I ever get anything more demanding than assistant ward clerk from now on. Given that, I don't need the beard anymore. Heck, I might even wear a white shirt tomorrow, secure in the knowledge that I'm protected by a comforting cloak of immunity.
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