“Thoughts from the Pot” are the random musings of a husband.
The thoughts and opinions presented below are not necessarily those of the host of this blog.
Thank you for your understanding.
I have a beautiful mustache; beautiful like the Aurora Borealis or snow leopards.
Although I have a beard, my mustache is not a sad afterthought; rather it’s as if my nostrils have a lighthouse. My facial hair is a beacon of hope and comfort to all of the naked-face people out there. You may not be able to grow as luxurious and voluminous mansulation as myself, but if you like you can stand near me and bask in the warmth of its glow.
It is not gaudy.
It is not overgrown.
It is well manicured, like a palace garden.
It goes well with uniforms and horses.
Gallantly astride my warhorse, Leopold, my mustache and I could lead a band of wily villagers into battle against a much larger force of highly trained mercenaries. “Onward Leopold, onward wily villagers! Attack! Attack and die so that you may truly live!” I would sustain seventeen life-threatening injuries, but my radiant sun-like mustache would remain untarnished. It’s magical powers would protect me like a totem.
I write this not to brag (not true), not to gloat (also, not true) but to say goodbye. The same torrent of emotions courses through me as the day I buried proud Leopold. Anger, frustration and sadness; immense and looming like a thunderhead.
The time has come, the students are returning to the college where I cook, and as much as the world may enjoy the unicorn/sphinx-like magic of my facial hair, they probably don’t want to chew on it.
Josh discovered that to Abide with me, he must Sacrifice the mustache.