I mentioned before my grandmother’s strong reaction to my dad’s mustache. As was probably inevitable knowing my grandma, said reaction has now been immortalized in a poem.
Advice to Men
Tell me this!
Are men beset with facial gashes?
Is this why they wear moustaches?
All their glamour’s disappeared.
Who wants a kiss that’s mustard-smeared?
And that, of course, brings up the beard.
An attachment ladies all find weird
That gives them pause.
We’ll overlook their facial flaws…
A beard is just for Santa Claus!
The men we love all take the trouble
To shed thier daily prickly stubble.
Here’s advice I give you free.
Be it side-burns or goatee,
To romance, whiskers aren’t the key
I crave no jewels, no gold, no loot,
Just a man who’s not hirsute!
[Note: I restricted the poem to only one form of typesetting emphasis, but I will note that the original made nice use of underlining, italics, and bold. I may have lost some subtlety in emphasis here. But I think you all can pick up the message. Men, get out your razors.]