Get Rid of The Mustache!

So, my husband is slowly letting what used to be a sexy barely-there mustache grow in to an out-of-work porn star, bar-handle!


I noticed it last night. I usually take forever to notice obvious things, especially if my mind is somewhere else. We will be traveling to California shortly, so that is where all my thoughts are going for the moment. Unfortunately, I am not thinking too much about seeing family. I am thinking more about actually getting some REAL Ramen into my stomach. You know that no one here in Texas has ever had REAL Ramen? It’s insane. I wish someone would open a Ramen restaurant out here.

Anyway, my thoughts have become a phantasmagoria of women that are skinnier than me, ramen noodles and in-laws. Occasionally a Netflix envelope and a bill work its way in to the thoughts, but so far, that’s it. Needless to say, I didn’t realize that he hasn’t shaved in like a week.

As I was taking a collective list of things that need to get done, toiletries that need to be bought, a shirt that needed to match the only pair of flattering pants that I have, and I look up and there it was: “OH! No way! Your last name is Sanchez, which makes it that much worse, so there is no way we are traveling together with that ferret under your nose!

Why do men grow those things anyway? I mean, it wasn’t cute in the seventies, and now a few leading men are bringing it back, but I have no idea why. They throw mustaches on television characters that have grown up or become cops. They throw goat-T on characters that play assassins and guys that are moving up in the ranks in prisons. For the real life, man at home, SHAVE! In fact, for my man at home, SHAVE! The only man in the world that looks okay in a mustache is my Grandpa Mike, and that is only because he really has had it since the seventies. He rocks the Welcome Back Carter look. It’s a comforting. Now, if he shaved, I think the world would come to an end. I have never seen my Grandpa without a mustache, and I don’t want to see it! It’s the only thing from my childhood that hasn’t changed besides my mother’s pea-soup thick Brooklyn Accent.

Look, I work hard. I have a million things that I deal with; my kids, my bills, feeling guilty because I am a devout Christian, but FAAAAAARRR from perfect. . What I don’t want to deal with is my husband slowly beginning to look like he should own a donkey with a sack full of coffee beans slung over his back.

Shave it off, Edgar! I beg you from the bottom of my cynical little heart!

Shave. It. Off!