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.)
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2 comments:
Ah me, how various the world is and all the things in it. (This comes from Hamlet, but I can't for the life of me remember it correctly). Loved this blog post, but then what's not to love?
I've never liked kissing men with mustaches, but perhaps with a toothbrush style you could kill two birds with one stone, as it were. Kiss and take care of your dental hygiene...
I never thought of kissing a mustached man as having multi-tasking possibilities. Thanks for the suggestion.
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