The Clumsy Interloper

A few months ago I found myself at Firefly, a restaurant in Charlottesville known for their sweet potato tots and arcade games, on a late October evening with the girls. Eva has gymnastics every Tuesday at 6pm so we usually grab a quick restaurant nosh beforehand on those evenings. The dinner rush had yet to begin so we had the run of the place, quite literally, as the girls shuttled between the games and the table. I would toss a few tots into their gaping maws in exchange for another quarter as the master class in parenting was complete.

While the girls were engaged with Pac Man or Pinball, my attention wandered to the folded placards that adorned each table. They were promotions for an upcoming fundraiser “M4K: Mustaches for Kids” to support the Piedmont CASA and Foothills Children’s Advocacy Center.  I was nominally aware of the phenomena of “Movember” and its philanthropic associations, but I never gave it much thought. My approach to facial hair coincides with my feelings about fashion – most days I dress myself in partial light, often with mismatched socks, black belt and brown shoes. Sometimes I keep a 5 o’clock shadow for days, then I’m clean shaven for a week before going full Dude. There is no rhyme or reason to the stylistic choices I make with either.

While sitting there bathed in the glow of halogen bulbs and Skee-Ball cacophony, I impulsively decided to register to grow a mustache for the betterment of society. I set a modest goal of $300 and put the “Stach Bash” on my early December calendar. The die was cast.

During the month of November I received mixed reviews at work. Boris from the Employee Service Center looked at me, did a double take, then wordlessly pointed to his upper lipped and solemnly shook his head. Mandy and Alyson both asked when I was shaving that god forsaken caterpillar off my face with the implication that I belonged on a registry. Others were kinder, saying that I “could pull it off” and it “fit my face well”. Eva and Sybbie acclimated to it quickly, although they implemented a “chin-only” policy when I kissed them. All told, the social experiment was a success. The water cooler was filled with Tom Selleck allusions and that suited me just fine.

By Thanksgiving I had doubled my goal amount and raised $600. Even more astounding the Chicago Bears went 5-0 in November capping the month off with a dominating win against the reigning Super Bowl champion Eagles. By fate, all I needed was a pair of blue blockers, a vintage CHICAGO jacket and a stogie to become Don Swerski, Bill and Bob’s cousin. That’s how I attended the Stache Bash, losing a costume contest to Einstein and Ted Lasso, but still representing the 9-3 NFC North leading Bears.

A week later, at the company Christmas party, someone asked when I was shaving it off – being December and all. I blurted out, “When the Bears are eliminated from Super Bowl contention”. After all, I had no delusions of the Lombardi trophy parading down a blustery mid-February Michigan Avenue. Alison, my understanding girlfriend, had blessed the stache which gave me purchase to extend the fun, detractors be damned.

A follow-up question was lobbed, “What if they win it all?”

I scoffed, waived my hand flippantly and replied, “Then I shall keep it forever.”

I have been an avid fantasy football player for two decades, however I have never bet a single dollar on an NFL outcome or proposition. However, here I stand, at the precipice of my 44^th year, with 22-to-1 odds (according to Las Vegas) that I will wear a mustache for the rest of my life. I owe my facial follicle future to Caleb Williams, sweet potato tots and a 30-year-old SNL skit. Seems about right.