Thursday, July 10, 2008

Sometimes you're sitting at a table in a bar just after the boy that you are dating has left, catching up with a couple of pretty friends, discussing the difficulty of getting through the labyrinthine passages of relationships alive, when a couple of mustaches walk up. But these are no ordinary mustaches, no mere novelty clusters of facial hair. These mustaches mean business. These are Snidely Whiplash mustaches, mustaches that just got done tying a damsel to the train tracks or getting into a shootout with the sheriff following a dispute about cattle rustling. One of these mustaches is even wearing a coordinating hat that should really have a complimentary poncho with it. When these kinds of mustaches approach, you just have to sit back and let them happen to you.

People say that it's difficult to meet men in Seattle, that everyone is too standoffish or shy or self-involved. I have always found it difficult not to meet men here, if not always the sort of men I want to be meeting. I seem to be a magnet for all sorts of miscellany and amusing adventures, which is great.

If you let the mustaches happen, let them tell you earnestly how you have somehow made their bad day better just by sitting there and drinking whiskey, let them give you tax advice in case you get married and then divorced, they will soon attract a gift sampler of other exceptional types. A film maker/cook. A man with sartorial delusions of Tom Waits and half a canoe. A completely silent fellow in a striped shirt who will fall out of your booth and still never say a word. This might completely derail your plans for the rest of the evening, but you can always go dancing another night. Mustaches like these just don't come around that often.

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