Calvin & Hobbes cartoonist Bill Watterson once stated that he imagined it must be a great temptation to misuse one's parental authority for private jokes. Since--like Watterson--I have no children of my own, I can't say for certain if that's true or not; however, thanks to my dad, I can say that there are parents who misuse said authority in order to get their kid to do what they want them to. And occasionally, that crap can SCAR A KID FOR LIFE.
You see, like most children, I hated green beans. Actually, I hated most vegetables, but green beans were the ones I loathed the most. So whenever green beans were featured as part of the fare, I would pointedly eat everything else on my plate and then spend the rest of the meal with my mouth screwed shut and glaring at the offending greens like they had called my grandmother a dirty word until Dad gave up and dismissed me from the table. Until one day, when my dad turned to me and said this:
"Eat your green beans. They put hair on your chest and--pay attention, folks; this is the kicker--give you a full beard."
Now, in my defense, I would just like to state that I was a young, impressionable child at the time. This was my dad, who--I foolishly thought--would never lie to me. The fact that he was sporting a rather unruly full beard at the time lent credence to his claim. And seeing as my mother wasn't around to debunk this, I did what any child in that position would do; I proceeded to quickly devour every single green bean on my plate, as if the speed at which I ate them would somehow help make up for all the green beans I had refused before. THAT IS HOW BADLY I WANTED A BEARD.
Needless to say, when I finally caught wise to the fact that--as a female--no amount of green beans eaten were ever going to cause me to grow hair on my chin, the revelation was somewhat devastating. I felt duped. I had been scammed by my own dad. Here I had been, eating all these nasty green beans, and for what? FOR NOTHING.
You know how some adults recall the moment they learned the truth about the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus? That's pretty much how I view the truth about the green beans. Like the cake in Portal, the beard is a lie and while The Husband keeps telling me that it's a good thing I can't grow one, there is a seven-year-old version of me who is still extremely sore about the whole thing.
The reason I bring up this tale of childhood trust betrayed now is because, thanks to the Internet, I found this:
WARNING: There's gonna be some gratuitous/cathartic use of Caps Lock happening.
A FREAKIN' BEARD HAT. AND LOOK, THE PRICE IS NOT IN GREEN BEANS.
OH, OH--AND WHAT'S THIS:
Taraduff, I don't know you, but I just want to thank you. With your beard hats, you have finally made the seven-year-old version of me a very happy little girl.
And just so this post isn't completely about the exorcising of my personal childhood trauma, let's look at some other beard hats, shall we? I mean, hey, I gotta redeem this post somehow.
How's about a pirate beard hat? Granted, that mustache looks like it would make grog-swigging a bit problematic, but I'm sure the pattern could be tweaked. Just make sure you do it soon, because Talk Like A Pirate Day is coming up quick.
Of course, if Lord Of The Rings is more your style, you could always go with this dwarven battle bonnet, complete with Gimli-style beard.
And finally, for those of us who have an inexplicable fondness for H. P. Lovecraft's Old Ones, we've got a Cthulhu beard hat. Because running around dressed like the tentacled one himself will surely get you eaten first.
So that's it for today, and if we've learned anything today, it's this: Be careful about what you lead your children to believe, because you never know if one day they'll start a blog where they state for all the Internet to read that YOU OWE ME A BEARD HAT, DAD.