I got an email from the director, “Don’t forget it’s mustache day tomorrow!”
Ahh, good ole mustache day. Whatever that is! And yes, we had pajama day and mustache day on back-to-back weeks. I know, right!
So, I’m going to be honest with you. I was out getting my toenails done. #TreatYoSelf. I could have ran over to the Target or the Dollar Store and found a mustache. But I actively chose not to and now needed a good excuse to support my
laziness conscientious objection. Here’s a few that I came up with.
- We don’t celebrate Mustache Day. It’s against our religion.
- We don’t support mustaches on women. We’ve been fighting this battle in our house since 1999. #truestory
- None of the mustaches matched her hair texture. This day is racist.
- We don’t support this patriarchal bullhooey. Why does my daughter have to look like a man to get any recognition around here?
- There was a run on fake mustaches in my area. Some sort of Walker, Texas Ranger fetish fan club convention last weekend.
We walked in and I felt immediate kinship with the other parents and their wild-eye looks, surreptitiously checking out children’s faces for mustaches. I, too relaxed my shoulders and released an almost inaudible sigh of relief when no mustaches were to be found. It’s like we all had a secret parents meeting and agreed to not mention mustache day. Yay for our secret rebellion.
Until I walked into Nana’s room and her teacher turned around and grinned – with a frickin’ mustache. Nana started crying. Mustache day. Really?