"I wish I had a pencil thin mustache," sang Jimmy Buffett. He wanted “the Boston Blackie kind.” It’s hard for me to fault with old Jimmy. He was a helluva songwriter before he decided to helm the floating fantasy island that his concert tour has become.
I guess I found fault with him. But not for wanting the moustache. Or for the song, a general ode to nostalgia. It’s all charming.
But I don’t want a pencil thin moustache. I have one. They say a pencil moustache is villainous. Tell that to Boston Blackie. They say a pencil moustache is effeminate. Tell that to Sonny Liston.
No, their objections aren’t worth a damn and I have a pencil thin moustache. Wasn’t easy at first. I tried a long time to get it right. Now that it’s right, it stays right. It’s easy. It’s neatly trimmed, and slants down from under my nose to end in a sharp point on either side. I’ve gotten comparisons to Clark Gable. It’s more David Niven or William Powell. But it was meant as a compliment, so I took it as one.
It looks good under a fedora or over a bow tie. With a pipe jutting out just beyond it. I keep it sharp and it keeps me sharp.
I don’t wish I had a pencil thin moustache. I don’t need to.