My Mother's Moustachio
"Oh, Kennedy, I am so dispirited."
Meet Madyson.
Madyson is a lady I once worked with. Last June, we met at a reception for a mutual friend and former colleague who is returning to live with his family in Australia, after living more than 40 years in Canada.
"It is simply not fair," Madyson continued. "Not only do you men have a penis flapping around in your briefs, but you get to have facial hair as well. I don't have penis envy so much as I have moustache envy. I would like to be able to grow one of those waxy handlebar affairs. The kind that the old Brit coots wore during the India subjugation."
I looked at Madyson carefully. I am never sure if Madyson is being genuine or simply looking to create a little drama. She was, above all else, the diva of the English Department when we worked together. Now, she is a bon vivant extrodinaire, rich beyond belief, and ready to jet off to the Riviera at the drop of a poker chip.
"Maddie," I said with a studious look, "you do have something of a moustache already. Perhaps a little eyeliner on it will fill it out."
"Kennedy, don't be ridiculous. That peach fuzz isn't going to fill this HUGE void in my life. I think I shall perish sans mustachio."
The day left me wondering what quirk in nature spawned facial hair on men, but left women facially bald, more or less. Everywhere else on their bodies, women grow hair — legs, arms, back, groin, ass crack — well, OK, maybe not the chest. For the life of me, I don't remember a woman in my experience who had chest hair. Well, some had no chest to speak of anyway, so a little hair there might have been an exciting addition.
Imagine, if you will, a history in which women did have facial hair. How different would the world have been? Would the Virgin Mary still look like a virgin with a goatee? Would Catherine the Great look so great in a ZZ Top style beard? Would Eva Braun have complemented wacky old Adolph with a toothbrush 'stache of her own? Would Jacqueline Kennedy have outflanked Marilyn Monroe with a flashy pencil-thin moustache to go with her pencil-thin eyebrows and her pencil-thin figure? And Hilary Clinton ... would a cigar-sniffing, Groucho Marx styled moustache and a decent set of sideburns have helped her in the primaries?
On a more personal note, imagine dating a fully bearded blonde cheerleader in high school. Or how about a sharp-eyed Math geek with a perfectly symmetrical hypotenuse moustache? Imagine your wife or your ex-wife with one of those Fu Manchu affairs that were so popular in the 70s, maybe with a cool set of mutton chop sideburns as well.
Oh, except for some fluke in the genetic whirlpool at the beginning of time, the possibilities might have been endless.
"Oh, Kennedy, I am so dispirited."
Meet Madyson.
Madyson is a lady I once worked with. Last June, we met at a reception for a mutual friend and former colleague who is returning to live with his family in Australia, after living more than 40 years in Canada.
"It is simply not fair," Madyson continued. "Not only do you men have a penis flapping around in your briefs, but you get to have facial hair as well. I don't have penis envy so much as I have moustache envy. I would like to be able to grow one of those waxy handlebar affairs. The kind that the old Brit coots wore during the India subjugation."
I looked at Madyson carefully. I am never sure if Madyson is being genuine or simply looking to create a little drama. She was, above all else, the diva of the English Department when we worked together. Now, she is a bon vivant extrodinaire, rich beyond belief, and ready to jet off to the Riviera at the drop of a poker chip.
"Maddie," I said with a studious look, "you do have something of a moustache already. Perhaps a little eyeliner on it will fill it out."
"Kennedy, don't be ridiculous. That peach fuzz isn't going to fill this HUGE void in my life. I think I shall perish sans mustachio."
The day left me wondering what quirk in nature spawned facial hair on men, but left women facially bald, more or less. Everywhere else on their bodies, women grow hair — legs, arms, back, groin, ass crack — well, OK, maybe not the chest. For the life of me, I don't remember a woman in my experience who had chest hair. Well, some had no chest to speak of anyway, so a little hair there might have been an exciting addition.
Imagine, if you will, a history in which women did have facial hair. How different would the world have been? Would the Virgin Mary still look like a virgin with a goatee? Would Catherine the Great look so great in a ZZ Top style beard? Would Eva Braun have complemented wacky old Adolph with a toothbrush 'stache of her own? Would Jacqueline Kennedy have outflanked Marilyn Monroe with a flashy pencil-thin moustache to go with her pencil-thin eyebrows and her pencil-thin figure? And Hilary Clinton ... would a cigar-sniffing, Groucho Marx styled moustache and a decent set of sideburns have helped her in the primaries?
On a more personal note, imagine dating a fully bearded blonde cheerleader in high school. Or how about a sharp-eyed Math geek with a perfectly symmetrical hypotenuse moustache? Imagine your wife or your ex-wife with one of those Fu Manchu affairs that were so popular in the 70s, maybe with a cool set of mutton chop sideburns as well.
Oh, except for some fluke in the genetic whirlpool at the beginning of time, the possibilities might have been endless.
