The other day my friend B was here, working on her memoir (Sylvia, Emily, August D and Me) and she is nothing if not thorough, obsessive, persnickety, and a perfectionist. Absent the correct detail – the correct word for the detail in question – she falls into a sad pathetic torpor and has been known to lick her laptop.
Naturally I completely identify and consider this behavior appropriate to the task.
So when she asked me what kind of mustache Adolf Hitler sported, I said, “A small black mustache,” and knew immediately that would not be sufficient.
But we love the Internet.
I found the American Mustache Institute, devoted to fighting discrimination against mustached Americans; they are staffed by certified mustachiologists.
And in case you are wondering, Hitler’s mustache was of the toothbrush style. (As distinguished from the Paintbrush, the Handlebars, the Fu Manchu and more than you ever imagined possible.)
Following our brilliant success in mustache naming, we moved on to Dutch desserts. (The less said about the Hartsbrook School’s Sachertorte Dictum, the better.)