The Face on the Bar Room Bore

In 1966, I was 32 years old, and for the first time in my life I grew a beard. I kept it well trimmed and, frankly, I thought that I looked quite handsome. One day, as my wife and I were having dinner and a few drinks at Tony's Tap, a Decatur watering hole, some friends of ours, Tom and Peg Sefton, joined us. After the usual exchange of pleasantries, Peg looked at me and said, "I really like your beard."
"You do?" I replied, hoping to hear more.
"Yes," she continued, "It hides so much of your face!"