Tuesday, September 1, 2009


My husband has this secret fascination with mustaches. He has wanted to grow one forever. Or, shall I say, he has threatened to grow one forever. And me? Well, I'm not so much a fan of mustaches, or facial hair in general. He typically sports a "flavor savor" aka "soul patch" and he looks damn sexy with it. There is this "thing" that Firefighters have with mustaches. It's, like, manly or something. Because their job isn't manly enough...riiiiiight.

He first told me about his desire to grow a mustache just weeks before the faux-wedding. Now, I don't tell him what he "can" and "can't" do very often. Because I'm a cool wife like that. But this is one time I put my foot down and told him that I refused to have wedding photos taken of us when I've never seen him with a mustache. These would be lifelong evidence of some horrible trend that he toyed with. I'd rather my wedding photos not reflect that experimental phase of his life. So, he didn't grow one. Then, he tells me, after the wedding, that he's going to begin growing his mustache now, in between the wedding and the honeymoon. Again, I refused. (I know, that "cool wife" label I gave myself isn't going very far right now, is it?)

We return from said honeymoon and he declares to me, once again, that he is growing a mustache. I rolled my eyes, scrunched up my face and said, "Ooookayyyy...if that's what you wanna do..." I think there may have been a mini-celebration dance, complete with fist pumping and a hiss of "Yesssssssssss!" And I may have rolled my eyes once more, but no one can prove that, seeing as how the husband was too busy fist pumping.

Fast forward to this morning. There has now been 1.5 weeks of 'stache growth going on in his upper lip area. I'm just not a fan.

Ahem. Or so I thought. I'm still crashed out in bed this morning when he hops in the shower before work. I hear him get out of the shower & come into the bedroom. He's being a little noiser than normal. I open my eyes. He's standing at the foot of the bed, towel wrapped around his waist, grinning. Huge grin. Like I just bought him a brand new murdered out Toyota Tundra grin. He flops on the bed next to me, still grinning. I knew exactly what he was grinning about.

"You're quite proud of yourself, aren't you?" I said to him.

::grin grin grin grin grin:: (That was his response to my question).

"Mmmhmm...I see it. I see the mustache. You're pretty proud, huh?" I ask, again.

::grin grin grin:: "Yes! I am! Do you see it?!" :: giggle giggle giggle::

And the man was so freaking stoked on his mustache, that I HAD to let the cat out of the bag. I wish, with all of my wishes, that I had merely made the following statement to him purely to stroke his ego:

"It looks...really good, babe!"

Unfortunately, I mean it. Insert foot in mouth, now. Damnit!


  1. Ewwwwwww. Mustaches are gross!! And I'm actually a pretty big fan of facial hair. I think full goatees are damn sexy and I even like a full beard (as long as it's well kept). But mustaches ... ewwww. Just ewwwww. I went on a date about a year ago with an old high school crush. I mean, I've been half way to in love with this guy for 10 years!! He had a 'stache. And the crush evaporated INSTANTLY.

    Glad you like it though. I'm still cringing inwardly!

  2. I'm not a fan either, bleh!

    but very sweet of you to embrace it :)

  3. WHAT is a flavor-saver?!?!?! :)


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