March Mustache Madness

Oh, the madness.  At the beginning of March, my husband informed me that his employer had sanctioned a mustache growing contest and he would be taking part.  The catch -- he was not allowed to trim it, groom it, nothing.  He labeled it his "nice and nasty" mustache.  Nasty, indeed.

Below is a picture of Ben sans mustache.  He's quite the looker, no?  I should tell you that finding a picture of Ben where a.) his eyes aren't closed or b.) he isn't making a ridiculous face is like trying to find Bigfoot.  You can find one if you search, but they are elusive, my friends. (The preceding statement was in no way a confirmation that I believe in the existence of Bigfoot.)

He's mine, ladies.

Now, here is a picture of Ben and his mustache about 10 days in or so. All he needed was a creepy van and a pair of binoculars, and we would have had the makings of a terrifying Lifetime movie.

Aaaaand here is Ben at the end of his contest...practicing his pose for America's Most Wanted.

Now, these pictures do not do justice to what I was faced with.  He couldn't trim it, so when we kissed it was like I was canoodling with a Brillo pad.  Also, people with children would see us and turn and run. 

And here he is after shaving it off.  And the angels rejoiced.

I'm not sure if he won the contest or not, but it was a great time to be alive.