I never expected it. Ever.
I honestly can’t think of any males in our lives that have mustaches (or any facial hair even) so I guess maybe it’s the appeal of the unknown.
And not just any mustaches. Handlebar mustaches. On duct tape.
It all started innocuously enough. A friend at camp offered her a small strip of tape. Just enough for a bracelet. But more than enough to get her enthralled. Enchanted. Enamored. Addicted, even, some might say. Oh, no, my daughter couldn’t possibly be addicted to duct tape. Not my daughter.
This is a moment we will look back on and say, “This is when it started.”
Well, we’ll say that if we can still talk. I’m kind of afraid that if we don’t hold an intervention soon, we’ll allll be covered with duct tape. Especially our mouths. Decorative duct tape, no less. But still duct tape.
And I’ll be thinking to myself how utterly surprised — how completely caught off-guard — I was by that one bracelet.