It’s come to my attention recently that I’m not manly. Like at all. All the things which have come to define what it means to be a man’s man, I have none of them. It was a painful realization to say the least. And it all started with stupid Mo-vember.

Don’t get me wrong, I fully support the fact that November has become prostate cancer awareness month and all of that. But it’s also become a month of de facto discrimination against those of us who cannot grow beards, mustaches, or even suitable lamb chops. I can’t grow proper facial hair, a fact that until recently never bothered me. Every woman I’ve ever dated, including the one I ended up marrying, hated facial hair. So I never really aspired to grow a springy goat, a slick handlebar, or daft chimneysweep's broom. But when my Facebook feed started blowing up the first week of Turkey Month with pictures of my buddies and their mustaches, I was forced to consider my own manliness and how I might compensate for my newly perceived shortcomings. I ran down in my mind all the things that define someone as manly. I mentally checked ‘no’ on nearly every line. Since you’re not inside my mind, I’ll write the list of my manly failures for you.

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