King Henmo VIII

Fear not, patient readers: the mask parade will soon be over. Movember is about to enter its final week, which means I haven’t got long to go before I can shave off my top lip’s hairy friend. However, it also means that if you’d like to make a donation – but haven’t managed to yet, for whatever reason – then you need to get your act together. Click here to visit my Mo Bro space where your credit card will be given a warm welcome.

 

 

Today, my mo meditation takes me to the subject of meeting new people. At the start of the month, when my ‘tache efforts merely looked like a five o’clock shadow, I didn’t feel I had to explain my appearance to anybody. By week two, it was clear that I was trying to add a fibrous feature to my visage, so I felt obliged to throw subtle questions like, “Have you heard of Movember?” into every conversation I had with a stranger. But when week three started and there really was no turning back, I cast aside all social niceties and launched straight into an apologetic cry of, “I’m doing it for charity!”

Who would’ve thought that a few inches of hair would cause me to question my social acceptability to such an extent? I wear loud shirts, I have no problem with colourful trousers, I spray myself with perfume that announces its presence from 10 meters away… but the ‘tache? It’s rapidly proving to be my sartorial undoing. I must gird my loins (or should that be twirl my tresses?) for the home stretch and wear my whiskers with the pride they deserve.

Mind you, my confidence wasn’t exactly boosted by something Madame Persolaise said the other day. I was examining my face in the mirror (not something I do very often) and I asked her if the ‘tache really did look as odd as some people had declared.

“Noooo,” she said, with about as much credibility as a politician cradling a baby.

“Tell me if it does. I don’t mind. I’m shaving it off at the end of the month anyway.”

“You look fine.”

“Just tell me. Come on, be honest.”

“I’m telling you. You look fine.”

“No, just be straight with me.”

At which point she gave me a long stare, wrinkled her nose and said, “Trust me. You don’t look like that much of a freak.”

Roll on December.

Persolaise.