The day I slept with a stranger
According to Wikipedia, the year 1983 was the the official start of the internet and the year of the first cell phone call. We watched Michael Jackson videos on MTV, the A Team on network television, and the movie Flashdance changed our lives (well, at least our fashion sense).
1983 was also the year I slept with a stranger.
The 70's were over and, with it, the popularity of the mustache. My husband of 2 years had a mustache to rival Bob's of Bob's Burgers. It was big, it was black, it needed to go.
When I met him he had a mustache. When I married him, he had a mustache. I had never seen him without it, but it was the 80's and times were changing.
I finally talked him into getting rid of the platform shoes and silky polyester shirts, à la Saturday Night Fever. I convinced him to shave his sideburns off. I should have stopped there.
I begged and begged for him to shave off his mustache and one night he finally did it. I waited anxiously in bed while he banged around in the bathroom. After what seemed like an hour, he walked out with his hand over his mouth.
"Let me see," I begged.
"I don't know about this," he said.
Turns out, from the moment he first got some peach fuzz, he started growing a mustache. He had never seen himself without facial hair since puberty. I was so excited to see him embrace the 80's.
"Come on, please show me," I whined.
He dropped his hand and I locked eyes with a stranger.
My heart beat frantically in my chest. I didn't recognize the guy standing in my bedroom, the one wearing only boxer shorts and a smile.
"Say something," I demanded.
"What do you want me to say?"
I recognized the voice, but the stranger with no upper lip scared the bejesus out of me.
The next morning while I sipped my coffee and read the paper, I said, as casually as I could, "Maybe you should start growing your mustache back."
Less than a week later, the stache was back and all was well. That was the first and last time I saw the stranger. I never asked again.