First it was a beard. I liked it. It was lumberjacky and appropriate for winter. Then it became a goatee and mustache for a costume party. Fourteen hours later it was a mustache, Chevron style, bordering on Walrus.
A mustache on a young man is mildly amusing, even if only to young men themselves. But what is at first a party trick, an act of daring or youthful temerity, quickly becomes a gesture of desperation that is quite frankly, unattractive.
It's a familiar plotline for these mustachioed men and their partners and so is the ensuing rift. Not wanting to be a buzz-killing girlfriend, I didn't say anything at first. His friends might have thought me demanding or lame. And he seemed to draw energy and confidence from it like Samson. So I waited. I even called him handsome.
After 10 days the soul patch appeared. It broke me and I admitted to my opinion of his facial hair, I'll admit, hysterically.
"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU HAVE AN IRONIC MUSTACHE!!!"
"It's not ironic! I like it!"
"You look sleazy!!"
"Why don't you accept me for who I am???"
We're at an impasse. We need help!
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