Not at first.
As I explained in the original post, I shaved it off because Kim said she'd like to see me without facial hair at least once in our marriage, which will soon reach 39 years together (that's worth a 'wow', I think). Because she's been so phenomenal in my recovery from recent colon resection surgery, I figured the least I could do, like Zoltar, was grant this wish for her.
So I did it. What a guy.
A lot of people have asked her how she likes the new-look me, and she'll tell them, that after her initial shock, it's growing on her.
Nobody asks me how I like it.
Let me put it this way: the other morning, I figured it was time to shave off the three days growth that had creeped out on my face. It had been at least 45 years – maybe longer – since my last full facial shave.
Turns out, I might have forgotten how to shave with a razor. I had trouble negotiating under my nose and I actually drew blood (something a guy on blood thinners doesn't want) when I nicked the corner of my mouth. I was going with the grain, against the grain, up this way, down that way, here, there and everywhere. Oops.
All of this reminded me why I hated to shave in the first place. I don't know how most women do it when they shave every body hair in sight, every day.
Then I looked at the face in the mirror. A hard look. The first real look since I shaved off the goatee on Tuesday. I saw a stronger chin than I remembered, but jowls were forming on the perimeters and they were somewhat accented by dimples I forgot I had. I think I surprised myself. Older? Younger? Thinner? I'm not sure I really have a grasp for myself. I'll allow myself an "I guess it's OK."