Mustache Coffin

Oh boy, my fave hater has been blogging! Which a) makes me feel like I should be too, and b) makes me especially want to share this little anecdote. Hm, how will said hater react?

I started bleaching my mustache in eighth grade, after Felix called me Mustache Lady. Dude had a rat-tail, why on earth did I take this comment to heart? But I was 13, I was sensitive, and I took matters into my own hands, with the help of a box of Jolen! I kept up the bleaching all through high school, not in a neurotic way or anything. I wasn't like one of those girls who waxed her eyebrows off completely and then drew them back on. I didn't even adhere to any kind of schedule. It was just something I did when I thought about it.

Circa 1999, when I was 17, I was dating aforementioned hater and hanging around the 'teau. There was some girl who lived there who totally had a happy trail, and I swear I remember him saying something about how he thought her hairiness was sexy. 17-year-old me thought, "You know what? I'm going to stop bleaching my mustache. Mustaches are exotic! I'm a liberated woman of the 90s!" Or something.

This thinking continued for almost ten years, until recently, when I kept noticing the mustache showing up in pictures. So, I was debating whether to return to bleachytown. Halfheartedly debating. Doing that annoying thing where I keep asking people, "No, seriously, do you think I should go back to bleaching it? That's silly, right?"

The final nail in the coffin, however, was this chat The Hater and I had the other day:

Hater: she is such a sweetheart

but she totally brings out the status quo dick in me

cause she's all hairy and shit and i'm all

this shouldn't bother me

but it does

does that make me a dick?

or just american?

me: haha

i thought you liked hairy!

how you've changed

tsk tsk

That's it, back to the Jolen. Don't try to talk me out of it.