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Destinations, Dreams and Dogs - International adventure with a fast-track family (& dogs) of Old World values, adopting the Russian-Italian-American good life on the go…!

Oops: The Case of the Missing Mustache

mustache2Our oldest son, like his father, sports a beard. Petya keeps his neat and trim, and so does Benedetto. Both look dapper. Until the other morning.

“Oh, no!!!” our son comes running from his bathroom.

“What happened?!” I shout.

“My hand with the electric trimmer slipped— half of my mustache is gone!” he gasped.

Sure enough, there was a slight patch missing. This would be a problem for the 20-year-old, used to being in the limelight. Particularly at the holidays, when there would be parties and presentations— not good timing for disaster to strike.

Benedetto suggests that he take care of it.

Oh, this should be interesting.

He requests “some makeup”.

I fork over a light brown eyebrow pencil.

Five minutes later, Petya comes in and you’d never know that anything had happened. Apparently, my husband could have had a 12career as a makeup artist. Who knew?

But that night at choir practice, our son tells half the men in the congregation and they all laugh with him, saying how something similar once occurred to them, as well.

The next morning, our son decides he will pencil in the patch himself. What could be so difficult? I hand him the pencil.

He comes back, about ten minutes later, with a perfectly-pencilled-in mustache, looking for all the world like businessman and philanthropist W. Clement Stone in his later years. It appears to be a stenciled work of art.

I burst out laughing, taking back the pencil that is currently worn down to a fraction of its size.

“I’ll fix it,” he laughs back and heads to his mirror. He returns, looking better and not so colored-inside-the-lines.

grow-a-mustacheAbout an hour later, as the sun rises, Petya and I head out for our morning constitutional, trying to get some exercise. It’s then that I notice: he has rubbed the edges, making blurry borders around his upper lip, his surrounding white skin now stained light brown-!

“Get back in the car!” I hiss as we arrive to a busy parking lot.

The two of us climb into the back seat of the Beemer, as I whisk out from my purse some light foundation. I place it over the stained parts of his skin surrounding the mustache.

It helps. Somewhat. When we arrive home, we can start from scratch.

There, I told you his story. I figured if he was telling everyone else, I might as well, too. He thinks it’s hilarious. In a couple of days, it will all be history. But meanwhile….


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