Blending In with the Bayou Folk
Paul the Apostle wrote, “I have become all things to all men.”
I have become like the Louisianan’s… in the realm of facial hair anyway.
On Sunday night, while the rest of the guys were tucked sweetly in their beds, the gremlins in the next room were at work cooking up a diabolical scheme. Craig lent me his beard trimmer, which was a wonderful gesture, but a lawnmower would have been more appropriate. Armed with a tiny battery operated trimmer, I attacked my facial follicles until only a narrow strip remained under my nose.
I understand it’s a bit late to begin Mustache March, but the truth is my mustache is far superior to many of the prepubescent wannabes who have been growing dirt under their nostrils since February ended.
I knew mustaches were in, and have been in, throughout this deep south state since the Frenchmen first claimed the territory back when colonial powers were still snagging the vast claims in the Americas, but I had no idea how firm of a hold sub-nasal facial hair still had on the region. It’s probably because of its French roots, and the mustache being the only French word used in the English language which is connected to facial hair.
Shortly after crossing into Louisiana from Texas, I entered a supermarket, intent on purchasing several gallons of drinking water for the cyclists. This was my first exposure to the general public, following my late-night trimming. Oddly enough, I did not feel out of place. Out of the ~10 men I saw at the grocery store (This part really is true by the way) about 7 of them had mustaches.
Me, a Californian surfer-type, penetrated their ranks. I was invisible despite my rainbows, grandpa shorts, and general surf apparel. In fact, I was received with hand shakes and salutations such as, “Yeh dress kinda funny boy, but you’ve got one heck of a ‘stache, and I respect that.” I received kisses from swamp angels, high fives, and invitations to hog roasts from my admirers.
Why? It’s the power of the mustache. That simple. Rather than judging the swamp people by their facial hair, I embraced their beloved fashion trends and therefore I have been counted a kindred soul. Though in California, I might be put on the sex offender list, and for good reason.
Now that I’m an “insider,” I shall do my best to assess them, win their hearts and minds, and perhaps one day when our forces are big enough, create a facebook group large enough to bring the ‘stache back in throughout the country, and end the mustache famine which has crippled it for decades.
Vive la moustache!