The concept: Women shouldn’t be ashamed of shaving – their upper lips.

I’m sure this has been conceived before, by some hairy Betty, in some by-gone era that had a few faithful Sallys offering timid support, but it looks like Betty tucked that Bic away when the rest of her friends quit inviting her to bowling night.

But this hairy Betty wants to resurrect the movement. Here’s what I’d really love doing – no, let me be more honest than that: here’s what I really love doing:

Shaving my moustache.

There, I’ve said it. I know it’s a HUGE no-no, especially in Marin. The whiskers! The masculine image of it! The financial ease of it! At least wax (at home or in the parlor)! At least do something hi-tech like electrolysis! At least bleach! But whatever you do, don’t shave! And be sure to do whatever you do discreetly and privately. Do not tell your girlfriends and do not let your children or partners see you.

But what are we afraid of? Looking (or feeling) a bit prickly? Being too much like men? Well, guess what? Maybe we are. Maybe even growing moustaches is an inherent link we need to boisterously admit we share with mankind.

Sure, it’s significant that we even demurely admit we grow them. It’s a step forward that women have the option to wax, electrocute, or bleach unwanted facial hair. But what a step it would be if we could just shave.

Think of the progress we could make! Shaving our moustaches – in front of our husbands, our sons, our daughters, our friends -- could do more to equalize men and women than any amount of pants-wearing, bra-burning or corporate ladder climbing since Susan B. Anthony held up her first picket sign.

Of course, the ultimate step forward would be to proudly grow a moustache. No, really -- think of the fashion possibilities. Women could start their own Handlebar Clubs (Google it – you’ll see what I mean), cultivating the coveted “grass grin” or “splay press.” Hell, we could bring new meaning to the “bush puss.” Oh, the possibilities are endless if we could just own our ‘staches.

Unfortunately, though, we still live in an age where telling someone you shave your moustache is akin to telling them you wear a jock strap.

But maybe it’s time one of us untucked our brass balls and took on the challenge. I say: Game on, Shavers unite!

By Anjie “Betty” Reynolds

Labels: Anjie Reynolds, brass balls, jock strap, mothers, moustache, shavers, Susan B. Anthony

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