The Afghanistache. Who told the men that when you deploy it is “the cool thing to do”? My husband looks like a cop from a bad 80s movie. Or an officer that was followed on COPS in the 80s. This thing is not just bad-it’s downright awful!
In the Marine Corps, the men are allowed to have facial hair, within reason. That means it has to be trimmed to a certain measure from the corners of the mouth, above the lip, and below the nose. On most Marines, it comes out resembling something from the Adolf Hitler era. And somewhere in the Guy-ble, under military, subsection deployed/extended training, it must be stated that the men must grow one of these hideous mustaches.
The Afghanistache was funny ... until my own husband grew one. It started out as a CAX-stache. He grew it when they were in California while they were out for pre-deployment training. Then, it looked like your average, hilarious Hitler mustache.
My husband is part Italian and German. He’s a hairy guy, that includes his face. Not much for sideburns but can grow a stache like no one’s business. His Afghanistache looks like one of those hairy brown caterpillars has taken up residence right under his nose. I think it catches the crumbs from his food. I’m waiting for it to mature enough to dangle from his left ear and make a cocoon. I hope it turns into a beautiful butterfly looong before homecoming.
We have been lucky enough to video teleconference with my husband for both Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. Leading up to Mother’s Day, my husband had been repeatedly asking me to send him these tiny little scissors that he uses to trim his nose hairs. Yes, we’re so old my husband now has to trim his nose hairs. I couldn’t find them, so I never sent them.
He had told me that he had grown an Afghanistache before the teleconference, and I was dreading seeing it again. But, when we sat down in the room he was clean shaven. Silly me thought that he had shaved for the occasion. Oh how I over-estimate him sometimes. No, he didn’t shave for me. He shaved because he had to. His mustache had grown out of “regs.” Those little scissors? Not for his nose, but for the ‘stache!
At the Mother’s Day VTC we had an extensive conversation about how much I hated the “stache” and prefer him clean shaven. So, for Father’s Day, I assumed that he would shave again, so that I wouldn’t have to see the thing. Again, I overestimate my husband. I would like to say I don’t, but I do.
It was there. The Afghanistache. That thing is going to haunt me in my dreams tonight. Today, I was forced to face it live via satellite. It is so much more awful live. It wiggles when he talks. At times I felt as though it was going to jump through the screen at me.
I told him he better shave that monstrosity before he comes home. He said he’s kind of enjoying it. I said he’d better enjoy the heck out of it for the next few months. If he steps off the bus with that thing still attached to his face, I refuse to kiss him. He thinks I’m kidding. Well, my best friend will be there taking photographs for us. I can guarantee she will see some of me running away from that thing.
Afghanistache. Ew.
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