8:30am Friday 4th December 2009
By Alan Molineaux
Christmas approaches fast, and not only are we faced with all the pressure of what presents to buy, we have to decide what to eat for our celebration meal.
It seemed so easy when I was younger; it was just a case of turning up and, as if by mum-magic, the food appeared.
Now most of the responsibility is ours, because we’re supposed to be adults.
Another pressure is what we should wear for the Christmas parties. The surgery that keeps my wife busy as a nurse most of the week has decided upon a theme; this year we are encouraged to don 1920s attire.
My wife seems to have it sussed, but I feel limited to bringing out my tuxedo again. In light of this, I decided to add a little challenge to the ensemble by including a moustache. I could have bought one from the local fancy dress store, but my wife suggested that I grow one.
Now, I haven’t had a ‘muzzy’ for more than 20 years, and the idea of growing one intrigued me. Mrs M had always been negative towards the idea, but now it was her suggestion.
When I was a teenager, I had a handlebar moustache, which I lost within two weeks of going out with my future wife. I was proud of it, but I wanted to impress her more than i wanted to keep it.
Back in the day, such facial hair was fashionable; and this was before the Village People made it in the UK charts.
Anyway, for the last two weeks I have been holding back from shaving my top lip. As an extra bonus, I have allowed the growth to form the shape of a handlebar.
At first Mrs M didn’t notice but when she did she was quick to voice her disapproval. I tried to appease her by saying it was only for a bit of fun, but it didn’t convince her and for two or three days she found plenty of opportunities to make comment.
I resisted for a while until eventually she broke my resolve. She looked at me for a moment then said she found it interesting that, unlike the hair on my top lip, the handlebars were growing out grey.
So without objection, I have shaved them off and left the remains of what might turn out to be an authentic 1920s muzzy.
All I need now is a monocle, a handfull of hair gel, and a kiss curl.
Bring on the Charleston!
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