Of Peach Fuzz and Prickly Pears
I recall when my son went to grow his first mustache.
After the manly thrill, of shaving once a week had passed.
He'd spend an hour in the bath, gelling hair so straight up it would stick.
Then he'd come down to breakfast, strutting his upper lip.
I tried not to laugh, while biting the inside of my cheek.
It looked like a Porcupine on his head, but his stache was weak.
It looked like a cross between peach fuzz and a prickly pear.
As if they drew straws, to see who, on his lip, would stick out where.
He'd stroke his lip with thumb and forefinger, to draw attention to it.
He'd turn his head this way and that, so from the light, the few hairs were lit.
Well, time has passed and his stache manned up along with his beard.
Although it will never be of Mountain Man caliber, I fear.
But he does do "scruffy" well and the girls all seem to like it.
And you know, my girl charming son, works it to his benefit.
For my oldest son Jesse.
Just something to embarrass you with.
Hey, it's my job.
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