Confessions of a Mustacheer

As only someone who has been within 5 feet of me in the past month can tell you, I have been growing a mustache. In case you missed what should be a blatantly obvious hint, I use the term "growing" as a technicality, as this small garden on my upper lip has failed yet to become the amazonian rain forest that I had hoped for, if not expected.

So there. I've said it.

The criticism - as I am sure you can imagine - has been plentiful. Even at work, where this all started when I managed to challenge a sizable portion of my coworkers to a mustache growing competition. You would think they would commend the cultivation and encourage in order for a more competitive contest. (Note: Judging will take place tomorrow. I will update with the results.)

Also, I visited with some old college buddies over the weekend in New York, and even they were less-than-supportive of my ragged lip-warmer. "Not again, Mike," they warned. "Didn't you learn your lesson last time?"

Last time, you see, was what I still view as an almost-successful run at a quality mustache. Most did not share in my optimism. (It should be mentioned, however, that I did manage to garner the endorsement of my brother's band. But, as you can see, their opinions aren't exactly expected to be any different.)

So now, it's my turn to respond. I have heard your grumblings and criticisms and all around pessimistic jabberings, and instead of my usual "Oh just you wait, ha ha ha" sarcastic brush-off, I am just going to come right out with it.

Seriously. Do you think these things just happen? Did the Great Wall of China show up over night? Was Manute Bol born that tall? Was Michael Jackson always white?

No. These things take time. (Yes, I know I was given a week and a half handicap headstart at work, but you know what I mean.)

It's simple, really. Somehow my body got confused along the way and forgot that it was 23 years old. What am I supposed to do about that? I am powerless. Best I can do is just work with what I got. If I have to put up with these shenanigans, then you will too.

So please, realize that I am very much aware of the fact that the patch of hair camping out beneath my nose is a weak excuse for a mustache. I get it. In fact, I am faced with this every time I look in a mirror, store window, computer screen, extremely polished wooden tabletop, or upside down spoon.

Personally, I am dedicated to the fact that this could maybe, possibly, hopefully be a freakin' sweet mustache. I will continue to battle and push forward in cultivating it and helping it to achieve its fullest potential without hindrance or interference. After all, the Grow must go on.




*** Update - due to a combination of the fierceness of my mustache, and the fact that everyone else dropped out and shaved prior to judging (Sallies, all of them!), I was crowned victor of the first annual - and likely last ever - office mustache-growing contest! Huzzah! ***