To the left is text conversation David and I had late last week. Before you read it and think I'm the evil witch of wives, I think I'm entitled to an opening argument. So, for as much as I pick on David and "put my foot down" about things, ("No, David, we are not getting a pet lion!") he and I both know it's in good fun... even if people observing the exchange can't always tell that. And, though you may not see it publicly, if I do cross a line, David has no problem pointing it out to me and requesting I not do that again.
Okay, with that disclaimer out of the way, let me say this: I hate facial hair. Period. I'm not criticizing you if you like it. I just don't. Maybe it's because my dad had a mustache my entire childhood. Maybe it's because it skeeves me out when food gets stuck on them. Perhaps my fear of goats makes me naturally repelled by the goatee. Whatever it is, I hate facial hair. On anyone! (Well, except maybe Bradley Cooper... he can rock the short, stubbly beard.)
The very first time I saw David, he had a goatee. It was months before he actually started coming through my teller line and asked me out and that whole thing. He was in another teller's line. I remember seeing him from afar and thinking "That guy would be cute if he didn't have that stupid goatee." Fortunately, by the time he decided to flirt with me, he was clean shaven. Then, as we started dating, I was really glad he had chosen to be a police officer. For some reason, most police departments only allow officers to wear a mustache... not a beard or a goatee. And, given the many jokes he had made about "porn 'staches" and that sort of thing, I thought I was in the clear. But, just to be sure, I said "You promise you'll never grow a mustache?" He said "Yeah, totally!" And so we moved forward with a smooth-faced life together...
I'm not sure why he and his fellow officer, Bobby, randomly decided to grow mustaches last week. At first, I thought it was part of Mustache for Mallett... a campaign whereby the men of Arkansas are hoping that sporting a 'stache will somehow help our quarterback Ryan Mallett win a Heisman. (And they're raising money for charity also, so that part is cool.) However, he and Bobby didn't even know about the campaign. Either way, he texted me their plan and I quickly vetoed. Then, yes, I went so far as to prey on every fear he has in order to deter him. (You read that correctly. He's afraid of little girl dolls, spiders, snakes and any abnormality of the fingernail.) I also threaten to shave it in his sleep (he's a very heavy sleeper) or to dye it pink with food color.
So, in true guy fashion, he told his co-workers his wife wouldn't let him grow a mustache. Every lunch hour since, I've sat at a table with 5 or 6 mustached men chiding David for not standing up to me. Yesterday he even said "Guys, she's never this adamant about something. I really don't think growing a 'stache is in my best interest."
Almost a week into the Great Mustache Debate, I've grown weary. In what I hoped would be the final nail in the coffin, I created a collage proving the 'stache would not suit him.
And, believe it or not, IT WORKED!! When I showed him this picture, he said "WOW! I look REALLY bad with a mustache!!!" Now, here's hoping everyone else's renewed interest in the 'stache passes quickly!