The foot scrubbing lady from the previous post persuaded me to have my eyebrows threaded. Then she said, "I will remove your moustache."
"Madam has a moustache."
I'm a Celtic red head. There's hardly a hair on my body, and what's there is fine and fair - the waxing woman charges me less than everybody else. If I have hair above my upper lip (I cannot write 'a moustache') it is also fine and fair.
She's insistent. "Madam has a moustache."
Of course doubt begins to seep in. Maybe there is a moustache and I haven't noticed it - is that possible? Maybe it's only a few stray blond hairs...
"All right, then, thread the moustache," I say.
The tartlets wake me this morning and the oldest one says "What's wrong with your face, Mummy?"
I dash to the mirror to discover, to my horror, a rash on my upper lip, where my 'moustache' was wrenched out by the threading lady.
Now I really do have a moustache.
And the added worry that when the hair starts to grow back it will be a bristle.