If you’re throwing your standard “Mustache Party,” you’re going to have to give me, roughly, 4-5 weeks notice so I can grow an adequate soup-strainer. Yes, it’s a blessing and a curse that I cannot grow facial hair in a timely manner. A blessing be it as it saves me a whole helluva lotta fundage on razors and shaving cream. It is somewhat of a curse because I am not able to, if the mood strikes, don a crumb-catcher for a day or two and be “that guy with the ‘stache.” Ho hum. C’est la vie. I could always go the Jer-bear route and get one tattooed on my finger and hold that up to my face, or I could tip my hat to Mr. Bowtie and print one out, grab a piece of tape, and adhere that sucker to my upper lip.
Nothing screams, “Check out that dandy, dapper gentleman,” quite like sporting a Bloodhound Slim and waxing the ends of your mustache. Which leads me to my next question: Are cheesy mustaches still ironic? I haven’t been to a hipster bar in ages and was wondering this. And yes, I realize that in my picture I am wearing a tie. But like I said, until I build the bow collection, I can’t be wearing the same two in one week. It’s just too noticeable. Luckily, the gents from Mr. Bowtie contacted me, and I will soon be featured on their site. What that means for my bow tie entourage, I have yet to determine. I can say without question that we are through the looking glass, people. Quick side note: My dad used to call mustaches “womb brooms.” My dad rules.