After all the weeks it took to grow it, it was gone in three swipes of the razor.
I thought he might be kind of sad. That he might feel a bit like Samson with a haircut--drained of power. The moustache was kind of a big deal.
You see, Mr. Brown Eyes does not share my Italian heritage, which heritage means even my knuckles have hair on them and I have to shave my legs twice a day if I want them to stay smooth. It takes quite a bit of time--and patience--for Mr. Brown Eyes to grow facial hair. Which I don't mind. I've never been one to get giddy over facial hair. Especially moustaches.
But Mr. Brown Eyes was determined to prove to himself that he could grow a moustache. This began in earnest a few months ago, when he purchased a fake moustache from a quarter machine and proudly sported it all day at work. He sent me a picture and I laughed. I didn't expect him to come home the next morning still wearing it. But he did. And he asked me to kiss him.
I touched the furry mass on his top lip and refused.
"Kiss me!" he urged.
I laughed and shook my head. "It's just too...furry."
He then pinned me down and tried seductive tactics. I submitted to a little peck of a kiss, but the moustache tickled so much I just started laughing. "Kiss me passionately!" he insisted, but all I could do was giggle as he nuzzled my neck, telling me he was my Mexican lover. You try passionately kissing a man who looks like he's wearing a caterpillar on his upper lip. It's just not possible. Amusing, but impossible.
I remember thinking after that how glad I was that Mr. Brown Eyes couldn't grow a moustache.
The next thing I knew he was sprouting little blonde hairs above his lips.
The thrill of the fake moustache was too great to resist, I guess.
Unlike his first moustache attempt when we were newlyweds, this one grew in pretty thick and didn't look terrible. Well, according to Mr. Brown Eyes' sister it did, but I found myself feeling partial toward it and learning how to kiss Mr. Brown Eyes without it tickling too much. I liked hearing his stories of how "the moustache" gave him superhuman powers. Not that I wanted him to keep it forever. But every time he asked me if I wanted him to shave it off, I would tell him to just keep it a little longer. Even when we were getting haircuts at his sister's salon in Oregon, and she practically had the razor poised on his lip, I told him not to shave it off yet.
I guess I just thought he was more attached to the moustache than he was, and I didn't want to tell him to shave it off if he didn't want to. And all the while he kept asking me if I wanted him to shave it off, whether or not he wanted to. Both of us trying to think of the other person, not realizing the other person really didn't care either way.
So yesterday the moustache came off in three quick seconds. And I was surprised at Mr. Brown Eyes' lack of remorse.
I guess once you grow a moustache for the first time, doing it again is no big deal. Now he could grow a beard if he wanted to.
But I sure hope he doesn't.
|My Mexican lover|
The Brown-Eyed Girl