Dear dirty moustache,
Well, our relationship was short-lived, and for that, I’m thankful. You see, on an average, ordinary day, I would say quite confidently that Ben is very handsome. His eyes are beautiful, his tanned complexion gorgeous, and his smile still makes my insides get all tingly. Don’t get me wrong, he still has his moments (like all of us), where his teeth aren’t brushed, hair is dishevled, and in his grungiest, grubbiest clothes that perhaps I would opt to not go in for a kiss, but overall, man is he hot.
But then you came along. And all of the sudden my tall, dark handsome husband, turned into a creepy, dirty old kidnapper. Ok, not really, but he might has well have based on the scuzzy ‘stache on his face. I wouldn’t have believed that 50 or so little stubbles, placed just right could make someone go from looking like this:
I also didn’t realize the effect it would have on me. I mean, I know this whole moustache thing was a joke, egged on by Ben’s brother Jo (Thanks for that, by the way Jo.) But I actually felt compelled to accompany Ben EVERYwhere, at ALL times, just so I could answer for the moustache on his face. Phrases like “It’s a joke….don’t worry, he’s not really a creepy guy“, or ” I’m sorry for my husband’s moustache….it’s not for serious – and no, we don’t have a windowless van stocked with puppies and candy” kept jumping out of my mouth.
Ben, on the other hand, loved you. He would just chuckle at my embarassment, and keep counteracting my explanations to the public with phrases like “oh no, this is on purpose, I’m bringing back the moustache“, or “Yeah, haven’t you heard? 2009 is the year for the moustache“.
Finally, after much debate and complaints on my part that it actually hurt to kiss him, he got rid of you. And I hope you’re not offended when I say that I hope you never. ever. ever. return.