I have had four regrettable mustaches
in my time
on this plane.

The worst
of course
was that thing I tried to grow
at fourteen.
That wisp of a curl
was something no one should have tried.

Slightly better
was some waxed monstrosity
in the early aughts
that made me FEEL sophisticated
but made me LOOK LIKE a douche.
I had to take out a loan
from the artisanal wax store
that I eventually defaulted on
three years later.

In my twenties
I tried a bushy pornstache
that presented an accidental resemblance
to a certain mid-century dictator.
I thought it made me powerful.
It did make me able to survive loneliness
for extended periods.

The best of the bad moustaches
though
was presented to the public
yesterday
after your offer to dress me
and clean me
and groom me
for a night on the town.

I do not blame you
for what was done to me
(by you)
but
even so
I do not believe I will be leaving the house again
this year.

Thank you
at least
for kicking
for kicking the Walrus off the list.