Death of a Mustache

Due to those chili, windy winters that some all-knowing Diety chose to curse Idaho with it has kind of become a little tradition of mine to grow a beard during the darker months. I do this mainly because it keeps me from looking like a sunburnt racoon during ski season, and it keeps my face toasty warm on my walks to and from class. With the increase of blue skies and the slow migration in apparel from boots and ski jackets to sneakers and  t-shirts the time has come to rid myself of my hairy chin. But, thanks to a very patient and forgiving wife, I got to say goodbye to my facial hair in stages, the last of which was a very slick handlebar mustache. I was given one-week to shave it off, or else she was going to pluck it out with tweezers in my sleep. And so, until next spring, goodbye my mustachio.