Matt made one of my fantasies come true this weekend.

No, not the one with the cowboys and the whipped cream.

Not the one with the Jude Law and a whole package of wax strips, either.

Although, this one also involves hair – I’ve always wanted to take a guy with a beard, then shave it off, piece by piece, like some sort of bizarre reverse coloring book, or one of these guys.

And sweet and patient Matty let me do it. Well, he did the actually shaving, but I directed and took pictures and cracked up.

I forgot to take a before photo at the time, but here’s how Matt’s beard looked, originally.

Very nice, huh?

Distinguished. Almost professor-like, with just a savory hint of lumberjack.

Until I got a hold of it.

First, we decided to remove the chin.

How freaking horrible is that? Seriously, that is the creepiest facial hair I have ever seen, and I have laid eyes upon the French Fork. Actually, based on that handy Facial Hair Guide, I’d say Matt is somewhere between the “Friendly Mutton Chops” and the “Franz-Josef.” Either way, it’s horrible, it’s terrifying, and for a man who was born in the 80s? It is so, so very 70s.

Let’s remove some more, shall we?

Potential props, missing from this photo:

1. Yosemite Sam’s hat, two oversized pistols, and a word bubble above Matt’s head that says, “Back off, ya varmint!”

2. A sombrero, a Mexican blanket poncho, and a 4-inch-long doobie.

3. Me, because I am doubled over, laughing so hard I can barely snap the photo.

Ready for more? Me, too. Matt, let’s shave off the creepy sort-of handlebar things!

Just a little action shot, to get you going. Also, to entice you with a small patch of Matt’s chest hair. I know, I’m such a tease.

Okay, just mustache. Ready? Here you go:

AAAAAAAH!
Once we got to this point, all I could think was, “My kingdom for a pair of those giant, reflective cop aviator glasses. We could play CHIPs, and I get to be the blond guy!”
Or maybe we could refilm the Beastie Boys’ Sabatoge video, but with more donuts.
Or maybe we could get my porn tape scandal out of the way, and I’ll call him Ron Jeremy and giggle uncomfortably the entire time, because that is ONE CREEPY FUCKING MUSTACHE.
Or maybe we could shave the damn thing off.

Oops. In Matt’s haste to stop being “the creepy mustache guy who makes his girlfriend alternate between hysterical fits of laughter, and recoiling in horror,” he cut his lip.
But he’s all done. Clean-shaven, baby-faced, and back to “normal.”

Next time?

I’m starting with the mustache part.

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