Saturday, 24 July 2010

Half A Mo

There are a few moments in one's mortal journey when a life altering is decision takes place.  I had one such epiphany two days ago.

Staring at the mirror on a cold winter's morning I decided to shave off my moustache.  This carefully cultivated zone of self indulgence first sprouted on my upper lip some thirty five years ago.

It has also survived and flourished in its various manifestations over 26 years of marriage despite suggestions to the contrary.

I blame this sudden and rash decision on my change of diet after leaving Singapore.  Soup and porridge have now become staples and a moustache is not the best item of  body adornment in such circumstances.

The rationale for my earlier decision to wear a moustache are now lost in the mists of time. No doubt the influence of Hollywood's leading men such as Clark Gable had something to do with it, but more likely it was the 1970's rock scene where long hair and a droopy moustache were de rigeur. 

I may have been no Rhett Butler I but I did have a passing resemblance to Ringo Starr on the Sgt Pepper Album's cover art.

Historical evidence suggests that the mosutache has been worn for thousands of years.  Eighth Century Latin refers to the "mustacium" and Hellenistic Greek to "mustax".  The Pazyrik horseman pictured (circa 300 BCE) sports a pencil thin moustache.

My morning decision had no such historical context. The sobering reality has been that no one actually noticed I had shaved off the offending appendage! 

Even the pair of eyes that can observe a sock out of place in the tallboy at forty paces failed to notice the physical change as she passed me by.

Either I have become as superfluous as the furniture, or the colour of said moustache has now changed to such a degree that it matches the skin colour of my upper lip - I suspect the latter.
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