Facial Hair, or lack thereof
Crash Hot Potatoes

The other night during dinner I told E he needed a haircut. In reply he said, “Yeah. I should probably shave too. But, when I don’t shave my face kind of feels like a teddy bear.” Umm, okay.

It’s true my man could never rock the Ned Flanders ‘stache. Believe me, he tried.  A couple of years ago he participated in Movember and this happened:

Movember Progress

Horrifying. I had to kiss that face good morning every day for a month, boys and girls. And the fact that his whiskers could be likened to a teddy bear, probably doesn’t put him in Ron Swanson’s good graces. E, go hammer a nail for crying out loud!!

The jury is still out on whether or not Little K will rock E’s hairless mole rat look (I shouldn’t joke, he’s proud of his two chest hairs) or Papa Wiesenberg’s Rip van Winkle look.


But there is this:

This picture is probably 3 months old and I don’t know if he’s sported the mustache pacifier since.

I think the look suits him.

What is the point? I don’t know. There isn’t one. But anyhow, crash potatoes. I made them for dinner the other night and we loved them! Until E said his face was like a teddy bear. Then I slowly backed away from the table.

Crash Hot Potatoes

Overall: four-star

The flavor in these were amazing. We loved them. But they were a pain in the arse to make. Mostly because Pdubs said they’d be just so easy, so I entered into this under false pretenses. Here’s the real story. (Recipe here, from Pioneer Woman.)

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