Sunday, June 28th, 2015
Ah, the moustache! Friend, comforter, the sentry that stands guard over the portal to your innermost self. Where Man is, there is Moustache. Indeed, in some cultures, the hirsute appendage is seen on both men and women, and why not? Why should a woman not sport magnificent lipholstery if she wishes? Why should a man not adorn himself in a fetching cobalt gown and jewelled slippers, and…
I digress. Moustaches are splendid. People wearing moustaches (unless they are scoundrels) are splendid. Household pets wearing moustaches are splendid. A moustache on a flea would be quite hard to see, but I’d tender a fee to see one on a bee. I confess, though, I’m mightily puzzled by the current preoccupation with slapping moustaches onto anything that can’t get up and walk away.
I can understand the logic behind a moustache cup. No, not one of these:
…although that really is rather glorious. No, this sort of thing:
You lift it to your lips and — Hurrah! — instant moustache. But who, honestly, looked at their breakfast egg and thought This would taste ever so much better if it could be cooked into the shape of facial hair…
Likewise, I have never enquired of a stranger as to the hour and then rejected their answer because their watch was moustacheless.
Moustaches are absorbent — they can hold up to one-fifth of their weight in water. Yet I’ve never been tempted to emerge from a relaxing bath into the embrace of anything like this:
You might accuse me of being curmudgeonly. I’m sure there’s a great demand for moustache metronomes and moustache carpet-beaters and moustache toenail clippers. Still, I maintain that there is only one place where a moustache truly belongs:
So let us spare a thought for those who yearn to feel the soft caress of elegant, well-groomed follicle foliage nestling snugly beneath their noses. Those with unfurnished philtra, who must endure the ordeal of rain lashing their shivering upper lips, ignorant of the marvellous ease and reassurance of that sheltering canopy of keratinous delight.
Must it be borne?
Look at this fine fellow, proudly displaying his magnificent appendage for all to admire! How dapper! How suave! ‘That’s all very well,’ I hear you cry. ‘But how can we be sure that the image in the article is a faithful representation? What if an unscrupulous lithographer were to tamper with it?’ Well, worry no longer. Our clients are literally singing our praises!
(Clip courtesy of Mr Benjamin Ripley — writer, comedian, blogger and dashed good fellow)
I couldn’t have put it better myself.