Mrs. Mustache

Yesterday, my wife and I were having a general discussion. I was sitting down, at my desk, in front of a large window. She was standing, leaning against said window. While I was talking, I noticed her lips pursed and veered off to the side. Her eyebrows furrowed. She visibly, loudly exhaled. The sudden changes in her face made me stop talking. She quickly filled the silence I left by saying, "There's something about this light..."

Oh, this light? I thought. Something about this light makes me look positively radiant? beautiful? magnificent? This light makes me shine and reminds you how grateful you are to have me in your life? Yes, there is something about this light, isn't there my heart, my love, my life?

"...that's making your," she paused, choosing her words carefully. "It's making your mustache...I don't know. It's really kickin'."

Hmm.

That's interesting.

What to do. I did the only thing I could think to do: I spoke in a French accent and twirled my mustache between my fingers, which was fun for about ten seconds. Until I realized I was twirling my mustache.

"So, it's come to this, has it?" I asked.

"Yes," my wife replied. She went on to explain that her face doesn't just happen. Apparently, she shaves her mustache once a month. I had no idea.

"Am I going to have to shave my face every day?" I asked nervously.

"No. You can bleach it. Some people bleach it. Or you can grow it out," she replied.

There was a long pause. We looked at each other. And then we laughed. We laughed harder than we did when she needed a handful of times to get the car out of the driveway, but not as hard as we did at the wedding.

Apparently, I've been letting my mustache grow out without even knowing it.

It goes to show you can have the heart of a thirty-year-old all you want, but the hair is coming. It's coming for us all. It won't be denied. It will take over. All you need to worry about is if you want to shave it, bleach it, or grow it out.