Drabble: Man a la Moustache

He grew it on a whim. To his delight it came in thick and dark – a follicular testament to his manliness. At first his wife detested it, but soon grew used to it, even fond of it. He groomed it and waxed it daily, and it became a curled monument to facial hair.

He couldn’t – wouldn’t – trim it and it grew and grew, its curls adorning his cheeks in ever wider loops. His wife asked him to shave. He refused. She left. But he wasn’t alone. Whenever he missed her, two waxy tendrils stroked his face, and made it better.

 

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