Fish & Facial Hair Don't Mix

This is me with my beard at its fullest, posing outside Chuck & Sally's (R.I.P.) for the photo that would come to adorn the jacket of my debut novella, Seattle's Best Dive Bars: Drinking & Diving in the Emerald City. I'm conscious of how much of a flavor saver a beard of this fluffiness can be, but I recently had it professionally trimmed at the Colman Building Barber Shop, so I figured a trip to Ivar's for lunch wouldn't result in quite the 'neath-the-nose ripeness it typically does.

Christ, was I wrong.

I had a halibut sandwich, and loved it. But it was messy, to the point where the fish often slid all over the mustache portion of my beard before making its way into my mouth.

In the four hours since I returned to the office after lunch, I have thrice soaped up my beard to the point where it looks like I'm taking a face-only bubble bath in the restroom sink. And you know what? My upper lip still smells like fucking halibut.

By all means, keep eating fish until you can eat fish no more--this is Seattle, after all. Just shave first.