Upon returning from our great road trip out West a week ago, I found myself in front of the mirror on Monday morning with a dilemma on my hands.  Surely I should shave the full beard I had grown over the course of the week-plus we had been on the road, as it was both unprofessional and also served as a visual indicator of someone who had not yet returned from vacation in a mental capacity either.  However as each stroke of my razor removed another strip of Cheek Warmer I also found myself not quite ready to return my face to its cherubic state of birth.  A decision was made and my upper lip remained untouched by the blade that morning and thus a moustache was born.

A few quick notes on my history with Cookie Dusters.  I come from a line of mustachioed men on my father’s side of the family – I believe my dad was wed in his – and my uncles have all embraced a Weasel Penis under their noses at various times in their lives.  Personally I’ve never found a lot of success in this realm however.  There have been various points in my life where I thought I’d try out a Soup Strainer for a laugh – mostly for bachelor parties and blind dates – only to have the effort go for naught as the end result was too thin or fair to even draw a chuckle from the intended audience.  These failed attempts at a home grown Lady Tickler have left me embarrassed and insecure in my masculinity.  Like George Washington, I cannot tell a lie (or sprout proper Lip Spinach apparently).

Perhaps it’s my age or the fresh mountain air, but apparently upon turning thirty the Chi-Guy genes have reached their proper vintage and a proper Mouth Brow was born.  Now I cannot say that I went from a thirteen year old boy to Grizzly Adams but I do think I could have picked up a few shifts on the penalty kill of the 1979 Vancouver Canucks with my Snot Broom in tow.  I have a natural disconnect between the hair on my upper lip and that which fills in on my chin and cheeks and thus I cut off the moustache right as it curled down below my oral equator which I felt added just the right balance of “this guy means business” and “I don’t think he’s gay but I better not get too close just in case.”  Reviewing my work in the mirror I was happy as any new father could be and decided me and my moustache would take a walk in the world for a week and see where we would end up.  In a lot of ways I could really identify with how this kid felt dragging her llama to the dentist back in the 80s.

This article is not a big self promotion puff piece however where I just scream from a mountain top, “hey everybody, come see how good I look” a la Ron Burgundy.  I take the time to write to you today to let you know about a horrible phenomenon that is sweeping our nation that is both unfair and unjust.  I have yet to see a piece on this social undercurrent on any of the national news outlets nor have books been written to surface this ugly prejudice but it exists.  Oh… it’s out there, and you may even be involved in it and not even know it.  What I’m getting at is there is a distinct moustache prejudice sweeping through our fair culture and I want to nip it in the bud right now.

Upon arriving at my office on Monday morning rather than being met with the high fives and comments along the lines of, “damn Skippy, you’ve got it going on today” I was instead met with points and laughter from the people I knew as friends just a few days prior.  When seeing it for the first time, without missing a beat my brother-in-law asked, “what was the bet?” implying no one would consciously grow a Nose Bug on their own.  It got so bad that when I tried to do my sister a favor and pickup my niece from day camp one afternoon, and got lost on the way there, I asked a friendly looking woman in the neighborhood if she could point me in the direction of where they keep the children and she flat out refused.  Can you believe that?  What happened to helping your fellow man?  She looked at me as though I was the one with a problem.  It occurred to me that aside from accidently having left my zipper down earlier in the day the only thing different about me that potentially could have turned her sour was the fact that I was proudly sporting a Fanny Duster.

What has this world come to?  There was a time when men of dignity and power walked our streets and ran our governments with only their wits and their Lip Rags to guide them.  Now those mustachioed few must meet in private and emerge in force on well coordinated occasions.  I say it is time we take back what rightfully belongs to the Facial Caterpillar – that being respect and dignity.  There is no reason to hide such a proud and prominent feature from your fellow man.  Men (and certain Eastern European women) of the world, I implore you to let your facial follicles flow forth from your upper flapper.  There is no shame and certainly nothing to hide.  If you could look like this you’re telling me you wouldn’t?  If you answered ‘yes’ then I think you need to take a long look in the mirror and find peace with the fella looking back at you.

So that’s my rant.  I can tell you that during my week long experiment I covered the gamut of emotions from shame to fear to comfort to pride over my role sporting a Facial Felt Patch (now I know what John Howard Griffin must have gone through).  I implore to you self examine and make sure that you’re part of the solution and not the problem in bringing the moustache back into our cultural landscape.  Much like the bison, the Walrus Brush has been hunted almost to extinction since 1989 but its herd count is on the rebound.  The next time you see a chap sporting a proper Lip Kitten don’t point and laugh and pull your child to the other side of the street.  Instead give him a pat on the back and a big thumbs up because that’s the only direction the mustache has to grow.