He LOVED it. It really is funny, but less so when Mark and his cousin Nic went running into a store, both of them screeching and laughing, all hopped up on Diet Coke. I angrily explained he couldn't do that--go running into a store wearing a mask--unless he wanted to get shot by a nervous shopkeeper mistaking him for a robber.
But it is funny to walk down the street while he's wearing the beanie. He looks like a dwarf hillbilly with that giant beard, and people tend to stare and point at him.
The best thing about the mask is using it to play pranks on our friends. I whispered to my friend Vic that Mark is starting to grow a little facial hair, and that he's kind of sensitive about it.
"I LOVE IT!" Vic said, clapping her hands. She thought facial hair on a baby face was just the cutest thing ever.
And then Mark walked in to the room, with his Duck Dynasty beard on. Vic erupted into laughter.
It was a good joke...until I found it was actually kinda true. Mark actually IS growing facial hair!
It's nowhere near the size of the beard, just a fuzzy little mustache barely clinging to his upper lip. I didn't even notice it at first.
When I did, what I saw was a mess. I'm pretty sure it didn't grow in that way, sparse in some areas and thicker in others.
"Are you growing a mustache?" I asked, holding his chin delicately in my hand.
He wiggled away and said, "Yeah..."
"Why's it growing in funny like that?" I asked, trying to get hold of him.
He wriggled away again. "Because I'm pulling it out."
I stopped. "You're...what?"
"I was pulling it out," he clarified, using his hand to demonstrate plucking the mustache by hand. "But that didn't work very well."
Oh, God. I knew immediately what that meant.
"You..." I started. I already knew the answer, but my mouth would not stop. "Um. You...haven't been using MY razor to shave it off, have you?"
"Yeah," he said, smiling like he's the world's best problem solver. Seriously. The kid has no sense of boundaries whatsoever!
And suddenly, I realized why my razor seems so dull lately, why I was changing the blade every few days, and why my legs felt all shredded after using it.
I banged my head into my open palm, and shouted a thousand silent d'oh!s. I took a deep breath.
"Don't use mine anymore, okay? I'll buy you your own razor," I told him. "And we'll have Uncle Brad teach you how to shave."
"I already know how," he said. "You just go up."
I gasped at the mental image of Mark shaving off large portions of his face. The number of things Mark insists he knows how to do without formal training grows (and grows more dangerous) every day.
He also doesn't recognize the boundaries between what's mine and what's his, and that some things aren't meant to be shared. As a result, I live in constant fear of what he'll reveal he's been borrowing next.
Sigh...remind me never to leave my car keys lying about again. Because if I do, I'm pretty sure Mark take it as an invitation to teach himself how to drive.
Without me.
I'm doomed...
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