A funny thing happens when you walk around a city with 11 guys sporting (terrible-looking) mustaches and matching t-shirts.
A lot of people notice.
I’ve done field research, so I speak with authority.
Last weekend, I traveled south to Nashville with 10 other guys to make sure one of my best friends received a proper bachelor party.
I think we were successful.
I’m not sure if you’ve ever been in downtown Nashville late on a weekend evening, but there are quite a few folks out and about.
I’m pretty sure 90 percent of those people have opinions about guys with poor mustaches.
The majority, I believe, thought it was a really awesome idea.
We were complimented on our organization.
Ladies, how hard is it to get 11 men on the same page? I see the difference in organizational skills on a daily basis in my own house.
Some people stopped us to emphatically tell us how much they loved our mustaches.
Random people told us stories about songs they made up about mustaches, or about a friend they have that is passionate about mustaches.
Some, however, didn’t think it was a great idea.
We were called creepy and scary, and much worse, unprintable names.
My single friends found out the hidden benefit of this trick, quickly learning which ladies had a sense of humor and which did not.
But it was all in fun and irony.
One lady remarked, ‘Why would you do that to yourself?’
Well, we thought it was kind of funny. Some people didn’t, and that’s OK.
In the past, we’ve dressed up in cowboy hats, boots, jeans and white t-shirts to attend a country music concert.
Maybe we just have a weird sense of humor. Or, maybe we’re just really, really cool. I can live with either.
However, I learned that I’m still the shy, behind-the-scenes guy I have been most of my life.
Don’t get me wrong. I had an incredible time. I’m just not used to stares from complete strangers. I like to go mostly unnoticed.
Lucky for me, there were 10 other people that looked oddly similar to me. Safety in numbers!
A lot of things happened that I’ve never done during this mustache-growing period.
For starters, I’ve never dyed a hair on my body.
See that mustache over up there? That’s a dyed mustache. Some “Just for Men” spruced that sucker right up.
Also, my wife has never refused to kiss me because of my “aggressive” facial hair. That definitely happened during the growing process.
Finally, I’ve never received repercussions for tugging on my dad’s beard years ago. As the story goes, my dad once had a pretty rad Hank Williams, Jr. beard.
Then, I came along and pulled and pulled on that awesome beard (apparently jealous that I was just a baby and couldn’t grow one).
So, for the last 28 years or so, Dad has been the most clean-shaven man I know.
Well, my daughter decided one day it would be great fun to pull her da da’s facial hair. It was naptime, and I was trying to maintain a quiet, tranquil atmosphere, but I had to let out a yelp or two.
Needless to say, mustaches can result in mustache-fatigue. Here’s a recap: no kisses from the wife, toddler beard-pulling and the early stages of hair coloring.
Not to mention being called creepy and other unmentionable names.
What a weekend, though. Too bad for you, reader, because everything that happens in Stacheville stays in Stacheville.
Good luck, Derek and Nicole.