Just in case anyone was wondering, this is what could possibly happen if my hormones got horribly, horribly out of control:
It's super muggy here in Michigan at the moment. And, since the ancient 1980s air conditioner in our bedroom took a dump this week I wanted a Slurpee. (We have since figured out how to work the one we got from Jon's Grandma's house. It still just needs some installation tweaks.)
And, because I had seen a billboard advertizing 7 Eleven's mustache straws...which was SUPER clever AND addictive...I needed a mustache straw. (I am usually amazingly immune to all forms of advertising, but was not immune to the mustache straw, it seems.)
My dad also has always had a mustache. It's black/dark brown. There were brown mustache straws and other shapes to chose from, but I wanted this one.
I'm thinking a mustachioed Halloween costume is in order.
And, hey, I look DAMN good in a mustache. Must be my genetics.
When I told my husband this, the look on his face was of such horror I laughed for fifteen minutes (probably spurred on by the vodka I'd mixed the Slurpee with.)
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