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If you happen to see me out and about you may notice a strange growth sprouting forth from my upper lip. That's right, for the umpteenth time, I'm trying to grow a moustache. What's the definition of insanity again?

Perhaps you don't recall my longstanding battle against my inability to grow facial hair of the substantial sort. Despite a family history of bushy beards, I have never been able to cultivate facial follicles in any substansial amount, only a smattering of blond and brown needles sporadically poking up from my skin, like patches of grass on a shady lawn. My face is and has always been a barren wasteland, dry, dusty and unable to support life.

Every once in a while, however, my four-day five 'o clock shadow will inspire within someone the desire to see me bearded, poor fool. This time the victim is my friend Raven, who just knew the shadow on my lip meant I could grow some dignified whiskers. Never gonna happen. False hope is a waste of time.

Still, bribery can influence a man in ways pride and common sense never can. For one week's worth of growth, I am to receive a free meal from a restaurant of my choice, courtesy of the curious Miss Raven. Another week's worth of growth, another free meal. Surf 'n Turf, here I come … or some fancy dish made of gold and diamonds.

I tell you all of this because I'm constantly in the faces of Itawamba County's citizens, basking in the glow of public officials and stand as the bald mug representing the local newspaper. I owe you an explanation as to why I look like a 13-year-old trying to buy cigarettes rather than a professional journalist who's rapidly approaching the age of 30.

Just remember, that's not a half-grown moustache splashed embarrassingly across my face, it's a free lunch.