The day Jacques got rid of his beard, facial hair started popping up all over the place here.

Or, more correctly, all over the face.

They were everywhere!

It was quite exciting.

Some were dashing:

Some were dignified:

Some were big:

And some were small:

I, for one, don’t personally like facial hair. (How did I end up married to a werewolf/lumberjack, you ask?  I still don’t know . . . He didn’t have the beard when I married him.  Or really, it was just hibernating.) But this one I found particularly cute:

Don’t you agree?

Does your ‘stache hang low?

Can you tie it in a knot? Can you tie it in a bow?

Hey Philip?  You’ve got something on your lip.  Yup, riiiiiiiight there.

Let me just . . .

Got it!  And you’re welcome!

Then the migration started elsewhere. Things were a little askewed:

And downright off-kilter.

Then things got totally out of hand.

We called her Frida.  It rhymes with Rita.