A Different Kind of Different (or Moustache Envy)

In my younger days I had an urge to try to be different. I’ve gone through various changes in style to try to achieve this. This would include the period of time that I would wear black almost exclusively and dyed my hair black. I’m fairly certain that I had my extended family convinced that I worshipped Satan.
Somehow along the way I’ve done a complete 180 of that style and I now wear cardigans almost every day. Though, admittedly I still wear a lot of dark colors. As dashing as cardigans are I still felt a deficiency in my urge to be different. This is what lead me to the next level. The moustache…
To be honest I didn’t know a lot about growing a moustache other than the obvious discontinued shaving of the upper lip. What I’ve learned is that style is everything when it comes to moustaches. Depending on the style you may resemble a motorcycle cop, a French wine expert, a firefighter or even a kid toucher. I’ve also discovered that the handlebar style moustache, aside from it’s ability to bring a dapperness to an otherwise casual style, is the most powerful variety.
Almost immediately after applying the moustache wax and curling up the ends I’ve noticed a change in how people treat me. I receive compliments almost everyday and in some cases preferential treatment.
The first of the examples I will give takes place at the local Albertson’s grocery store with my wife and a couple friends in tow sometime around midnight. Like everyone else in a grocery store at this time of night we were on a beer run. Or in this case a Jose Cuervo 100 calorie margarita jug run. While being rung up at the checkout line, a seemingly buzzed middle-aged woman in line behind me says; “Great moustache! You look dastardly. But in a good way.” Not knowing how to react in this situation I just smiled and said thanks and grabbed my two jugs of booze and split.
Another time Jess and I were at Target checking out at the register and the young man completing our transaction says; “Awesome moustache. I wish I could grow one.” His face turned to a frown and he rubbed his upper lip with an obvious amount of disappointment. This was hard to see. It was like having a woman tell you she cannot give birth to a child. A beautiful baby made of coarse hair.
On another occasion I was grocery shopping at Trader Joe's and encountered a large shopping cart traffic jam in the frozen food section. I needed to get to the frozen rice but I was blocked by a couple of lallygagging shoppers. I saw a Trader Joe's employee ahead who was restocking the rice I needed and I asked him if he could pass me a box of rice over the obstacle of carts. He grabbed a box and squeezed through the shoppers and handed right to me and said; "Anything for a handlebar moustache." This caught me by surprise. I didn't expect him to go out of his way to maneuver through a mess of carts. I thought he'd just pass it over to me. Instead I had a hand delivered package presented to me as if it were gold, frankincense or myrrh.
I fear that my moustache is growing in power as it grows in length. I mustn't let it get to my head. As Spider-Man's uncle had said; "With great power comes great responsibility."