Wherefore Art Thou Mustachio?

Talking about mustaches reminded me of a story. A few years ago the wife got it in her head one day that she wanted to go see Shakespeare In The Park, which was exactly what it sounds like - a Shakespeare play acted out in a park. Shortly after she announced that thought, I got it in my head that I did not want to go see that stupid shit. However, she insisted and left me with little choice.

The morning of the play I was cutting my hair when I got a great idea. I was going to shave a big mustache and force the wife into a tough decision: be seen in public with a dirty, trashy fu manchu, or forego the plans all together.

When I emerged from the bathroom freshly trimmed and fully mustachioed, I was met immediately with an exclamation, "What is that!?!" in a tone that was part fear, like she had just seen a cockroach, and part anger, like she'd just seen a cockroach stealing a pair of her shoes.

My innocent stare in return was met with another exclamation, "You are not going to Shakespeare In the Park looking like that!" Money! I did a victory dance in my head.

What ensued for the remainder of the day was nothing short of a war of attrition.

I had launched an all-out offensive, nicknamed Operation Mustache Freedom, which was met by the wife's stiff and severe resistance, nicknamed Operation Stupid Fucking Cultural Event. I was betting there was no way she would take me to the play looking like a redneck biker. She was betting she could force me to shave my upper lip.

We were both wrong but the compromise was not in my favor. While I did in fact rock the mustache at a public outing, I still had to go to the stupid play.

I can tell you now from experience, there are few things more liberating than attending a cultural event like Shakespeare in the Park with a sweet-ass fu manchu. I can also tell you there are few things more painful than attending a cultural event like Shakespeare in the Park.

The big problem was – let’s face it, there were a lot of problems, but the big problem was the quality of production. This was not Morgan Freeman and Daniel Day Lewis directed by Martin Scorsese. This was like Bob, your neighbor, and Mary, the crazy lady down the street, and that kid that was always the supporting role in all the high school plays because he couldn't keep from overacting every goddamn scene. It's like they put a flier out for auditions that read, "Do you have more free time than you know what to do with? Do you have absolutely no self-awareness? Do you have no reservations about making a fool of yourself? If you answered yes to any of these questions, then come on down to audition for Shakespeare In the Park."

I’m pretty sure 90% of the audience would have been more inclined to pay to see Sara and I fight over the existence of my mustache than that stupid-ass play.