This was supposed to be a daily thing, but yesterday was the
Cup. Public Holidays make the most earnest of desires collapse in pools of alcohol.
This was the first time my Particularly Shit Moustache had been exposed to
this spectacle. Thus, we felt it prudent to ignore trying to get something up
yesterday on account of the fact Its transparent blondeness was glistening
with beer and wine: a lubrication which made writing difficult, but was nonetheless felt called for on account of how
underwhelmed my Particularly Shit Moustache was by the whole event.
Interestingly enough, Its
reaction to the Cup matched the reaction of anyone who happened to see It
yesterday. My Particularly Shit Moustache is underwhelming, like a duck who you
thought could do algebra, but who can only solve the easiest of fractions… at
best.
Today,
however, It has emerged a little clearer, more full-bodied, like a Pinot Gris
shimmering under a cloud in front of the sun. It remains Particularly Shit. It
will forever be Particularly Shit. But at least today It promised to be more
than just fluff hanging from under my nose, atop my lip, and seemed to strive
for something greater than merely being gold. There is red in there, in my
Particularly Shit Moustache.
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