A Weekend with a mustache: a social experiment

Part One: The Creation

On Friday this past, the thirty-first day of October, it being Halloween I tried on my police costume I had rented for the party I was about to attend. Posing in the mirror in my blue garb I realized that it wasn’t just a badge that I was missing. After reluctant approval from my girlfriend Julia, with my beard trimmer in hand, I took my first step down a path that few men have ever dared to.
I made quick work of the cheeks, leaving enough side-burn to be considered fantastic. I then moved onto the chin. I trimmed and clipped, and scraped and shaved until only a small patch of soul remained beneath my bottom lip. Then with a quick rinse of the face I saw for the first time the fruit of my labors. To put into words the joy I felt would be impossible, however in an attempt I would site Genesis and compare it to how God felt on the seventh day when he looked upon all that he had created and saw that it too was good.
After I took it all in, I finished getting ready. I cracked my first beer of the night and awaited Greg’s arrival. Jule was still getting ready when I opened my second. When she finally finished and joined me in the living room it was obvious she was having trouble making eye contact, and who could blame her. Being in the presence on such an awesome sight is enough to make anyone a little timid. Greg soon arrived dressed as a golfer or some retarded thing. When he saw what I had done he too was excited. We had a few laughs, and a few more beers. Then with flashlight in hand, dawning handcuffs, mirrored aviators, and of course that crescent-moon of whiskers beneath my nostrils, I entered Julia’s car and away we went.
We arrived at the party fashionably late. Julia quickly found her girl-friends and the gabbing began. She was dressed as a nineteen-fifties girl complete with her striped shirt, pink poodle skirt, glasses, and the ever so talked about “Ked’s.” She looked great. Greg mostly just looked like Greg, but with a scali-cap and baseball socks. The mustache was a big hit, as to be expected. I was hit with all sorts of comments and compliments. “That’s a sweet mustache!”, or “Sick kid!”, or the occasional “Eww you look so creepy!”, and even “Is that real?” to which I would respond with a tip of the aviators and a confident “Oh yeah.”
It was getting late and we decided it was time to take off. Jule said her goodbye’s, then after a quick trip to Bill and Bob’s for some late-night piggery, we were home. The two of us got out of our costumes and were soon fast asleep. Now I’m not saying it was the mustache, but that night I had one of the greatest, most relaxing night’s sleep that I can remember.
We awoke from Our slumber on Saturday refreshed and ready to take on the world. She looked at me with that “god you look so creepy” look on her face that I had grown so accustomed to the night before. I could tell she wanted it gone. I scrambled and quickly made-up an excuse of why I couldn’t shave it because if I shaved my mustache without the rest of my face being long enough to shave I would risk serious injury from razor burn. She bought it, or else she really didn’t give a fuck, either way I was in the clear.
I walked down the stairs with my chin held high. I felt stronger than a lion, and more confident than John Holmes in a YMCA locker room. I knew today was going to be a great day. I showered, brushed up, and had a quick cup of coffee before calling Jack to see if he was ready to work on our ongoing construction project, the great wall of Fremont St.. After talking to him and coming up with a game plan I realized I had a few things I needed to do before we got started. I yelled up to Jule and asked her if she wanted anything at Dunkies. I then opened the front door and entered the world a new man, a confident man, a mustached man.
………..And so began my weekend with a mustache.