I firmly believe in the healing power of the mustache, so when Sarah went into the hospital last August, I got to growing one.
Anyways, it took her about a week to figure out what was happening, and when she did she was not pleased. I suspect this was because she realized that she wouldn’t be able to handle all of the manlyness that was sprouting from my upper lip. I calmly explained that Jack needed all of the help that could get, and that the mustache would almost certainly help his chances. Secretly, I also wanted to take this picture for my dad.
Being that she was in the hospital and in a somewhat weakened state, she eventually agreed not to kill me, but only if I promised to shave it off the day Jack came home. Well, it’s taken me a couple of extra weeks to work up to it, but yesterday I re-joined the rest of you wimpy non-mustache having men.
It’s been a very rough 24 hours, but I think I may pull though.
PS- Jack has plumber butt.
You win the Guinness record for fastest mustache shave — holy smokes!
Dang. the ’stache is gone.
Alice is like the Taliban. If I shave the moustache or beard off, I get in trouble.
But if it makes your momma happy without, good for her.
Because if Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.
CRT
So. Much. Better. Sans. Mustache.
Arch, what kind of razor is that? ALice says if I am a good boy (and I am a very. good. boy.) Santa might get me one for Christmas.
Of course I have to leave the beard on. But I can trim it!
CRT