on my mustache.

Mustaches. They’re for men. Manly men. And roughly 1/4 of the female population. If you are a man, and a marginally hairy man at that, it stands to argue that I could out ‘stache you. I do not wave my mustache flag proudly, I wave it for all the other women out there who beg their husbands to wax and pluck their whiskers if they were ever to find themselves in a comatose state.
 Husbands: Clutch in the long game.  
Seriously. I’d wake up after 12 months. I’d sit up! Ask about the children! See my reflection! See this and punch my husband in the face.

“prepare to die”


Some women might suggest bleaching my mustache. These women do not, in fact, have a mustache. Because if I were to bleach my mustache, I would then have a thick, blonde, mustache. A la Spencer from the The Hills.

Having a mustache begs the question, “Will I one day have a beard?” And if I do, I will Nair it too. When I show up to my 20 year high school reunion people will remark that I have changed. “It’s probably my beard.” 
What’s more far fetched? That I will one day have a beard- OR that I would ever, ever, ever consider attending a high school reunion?  
Def the reunion. As if!  
Don’t feel sorry for me okay? I’m still a normal person. Other celebrities I suspect have artfully hidden/removed mustaches include Amy Poehler, Zooey Deschanel, the girl who is always the best friend in every romcom, Kim Kardashian, and Ryan Seacrest.  

I know I was supposed to mustache myself- but I found these mustache eyebrows far more compelling. What can I say, sometimes my art just speaks to me. And it’s not always saying what I expect it to say.  


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