Moustache Diary, Entry #9

Sorry for the lack of moustache updates.

No, wait. I’m not sorry.

I’m out of town right now. Out in la la land for some skateboarding stuff — the premiere of the Nike video and the Goofy vs. Regular contest at the Etnies skatepark. And because the airlines didn’t charge me extra, I brought my moustache along with me.

I caught a cold on the plane. At least that’s what I’ve convinced myself of. There was a point where I had that overhead fan blowing on my face and there were people around me, just coughing and breathing into the ambient air. I didn’t really notice it at first, but then I had this grand realization. The fan was pushing all kinds of gross atmosphere — recirculated from the inside of the flying tube and tainted with the sneezes and farts and breath of all these sorry fuckers — right into my mouth.
“Shit. I’m gonna get sick.” I thought.
So I got up and went to the bathroom and washed my face and hands in the hopes of killing some of the germs that had attached themselves to me. And while I was in there I caught a glimpse of myself. Actually, I didn’t see myself at all. I saw my moustache.
MY MOUSTACHE!
I’d totally forgotten about it.
Then through some mixture of false hope and panic I made a jump in logic wherein my moustache was protecting me from all the microbes and cooties, like some broom-like filter, sweeping away the sickness and viral contaminants.
Yeah. That’s it.

I’m here to tell you that it doesn’t work that way. Not for (two thumbs pointing back at me) this guy. This un-sorry, sniffling, hacking, guy with a moustache.