I feel that there comes a time in every young man’s life when he needs to grow a mustache. For me, that time is now. No, it’s not part of the whole “No Shave November” thing, because, in all honesty, my neck beard is gnarly as hell, and I’m not trying to completely scare away the opposite sex (or children, small animals, etc.). Also, my dad once had one, so that is reason enough.
The funny thing is, I never really planned to start growing one. In actuality, I’m just too poor – and too lazy – to buy new blades for my razor. That shit’s expensive. So, after a few days (ok, probably more like weeks) of disregarding my facial hair, the people around me started commenting on it. It took only the first “Hey, sweet mustache,” to make my mind: it’s staying.
At this point, I can’t say it’s the most masculine ‘stache I’ve seen, nor is it the most attractive I imagine, but it’s getting there. In fact, as I type this, I find myself constantly distracted by the monitor light reflected off of its strawberry-blond fibers. Awesome. I would post a picture to complement this all, but I’ve decided to keep it under wraps until I go home next month. I want to present a (hopefully) pleasant surprise to my family before I end up parting ways with my whiskery companion.
In other news, since I just wrote three paragraphs about my sketchy mustache and no one probably really cares, I have been lucky enough to get on the mountain each of the past six days. Winter Park, which is just down the street from me, has quickly won me over in terms of where I call “home,” and I can’t imagine how epic it will be once it’s 100% open. Now, I’m just keeping my fingers crossed for that first monster snowstorm to hit – I need to test out my ‘stache in some extreme conditions.