When my upper lip was asked to join the Movember cause, I said “yes” without hesitation … and also without remembering that I have never before had a standalone soup strainer. This excludes the one I painted on when I went to a Halloween party as Groucho Marx in 1996.
Not that my pasty face hasn't been obscured before. It bore a goatee a few times in my life, notably when that look made its big comeback in the mid-1990s. Even at its frenzied height of fashion hipness, I had the forethought to shave it off before my wedding so as not to forever link the day of my most blessed union with a "what was I thinking" fashion faux pas.
I also sported a full beard for a bit in college. At least I did until I came home for a long weekend freshman year and The Mother of All Uncoolness hid the keys to my car until I used one of the dozen disposable razors she had strategically taped all over our house.
Which is why I can’t wait until Thanksgiving when I open the door for her and she sees this:
MOTHER OF ALL UNCOOLNESS: Good God. Get that thing off your face!
ME: You don’t like?
MOTHER OF ALL UNCOOLNESS: Go shave. Now.
ME: Can’t. Growing it for charity. I’m rais--
MOTHER OF ALL UNCOOLNESS: No turkey for you until you MARCH upstairs and cut that thing off. Trim under your armpits, too. You won’t sweat so much.
ME: What? Hey, I cooked the turkey. And this is my house. I’m …
MOTHER OF ALL UNCOOLNESS: And get rid of that dog. Your grandfather would be appalled that there was a dog in the house. Especially a bald one.
ME: Grandpa’s been dead for 20 years. And this is my hou-
MOTHER OF ALL UNCOOLNESS: That’s it. We’re leaving. Here, take the pie. You’ve ruined my holiday.
ME (yelling down the walkway): You forgot the whipped cream!!
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Remember, friends, I’m itching for a cause. Please donate to fight prostate and testicular cancer.