Because I want to put my best foot forward when I meet Robbi’s Japanese relatives, I decided to shave. I started with my mustache, attacking it haphazardly with my razor before realizing that the whole ordeal would probably be a lot less traumatic if I did the preliminary work with the electric razor. Unfortunately, Robbi spotted me in my vulnerable, transitional state and somehow tricked me into letting her take photos of my mustache-less-though-still-bearded self.
Although I think there’s a way in which this look works for me…
…there are many, many more ways in which it absolutely doesn’t.
