The Hopeless Husband could possibly be a brother I never knew about for 60 years until today. I need a hug!
This is a story about the time when I discovered that beards and ice cream do not mix. Incidentally, it is also a story about the time my wife was advised to put me on the naughty step by a passing child (I probably deserved it too).
I first started growing my beard about 18 months ago and if I am being completely honest, other than my wife, I have never loved anything more.
The only issue with having a reasonably large beard though, is that it becomes near on impossible to eat anything without making a considerable amount of mess. When I say a considerable amount of mess, I mean that my face literally starts resembling a hairy dinner plate.
(World hunger, no problem. My post-dinner beard can sort that and still have enough leftovers to put in the freezer).
Anyway, on this particular day, me and the wife…
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