Size Matters


I’ve seen that look of disappointment on a girl’s face far too many times. I’m used to it by now.

She blushes, and accidentally lets out a nervous laugh. “I just — I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I look away, too ashamed to even make eye contact.

“I just thought it’d be um, you know — bigger.”


“And longer. And thicker. Like, way thicker.”

“Right, yeah. I know. I know.”

“I mean, I’ve honestly seen kids in middle school who had bigger ones — I’m sorry.”

I see her smirk just the slightest bit — it’s funny to her, the fact that something I have no control over somehow makes me less of a man. I stand in silence. She starts to feel a little guilty, I think because she senses my overwhelming insecurity.

“Look, I’ve seen ’em all shapes and sizes — even different colors. In fact, I’ve seen men without anything there at all. There’s someone out there for who will appreciate you for your…”

She glances at it once more, and bites her lip to hold back a giggle.

“…unique situation.”

I nod. She leaves.

I pull out a razor, and hold it to my neck for a few seconds.

I sigh, and put it down. I just can’t do it.

No matter how patchy this beard is, I can’t bring myself to shave it off.