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Mustache of Shame
Photo by Shivam Singh on Unsplash I was a grown man before I decided to shave off that awful mustache. And, I’ve never looked back. The impetus for change? A girl. A stunning and multi-lingual college-age Russian who was a part of a group of other college girls assigned as translators for a motley crew of Americans in northern Russia. Here’s how I fell for her: I looked at her. No, really. I looked at her and said, “hello.” She returned the gaze. And in that brief glance of her dark crystal (technically blue) eyes, my soul was pierced. My consciousness emptied of the ability to think rational thoughts. And I…