Dammit Biology.

So, I want to be able to grow a mustache.

Why? Because no one takes me seriously.

I mean, I'm really not intimidating. At all. I'm 5'2" and 95 pounds (on a heavy day). So, when I try to be menacing, people end up:

A.) Laughing at me.

B.) Ruffling my hair.

or C.) Doing A. and B. while going, "Awwww" and speaking to me like I'm a mentally deficient animal with an extra leg.

After a while, it gets aggravating.

For once in my life, I'd like to be able to be like, "Oh, yeah?" BAM. Mustache. How could anyone react to that?

They couldn't.

What would you do if all of a sudden this face

had a mustache?

You'd soil yourself at the sheer terror my mustache would instill!

Of course, I don't want to grow a mustache and then have to keep it because that would take away from my feminine wiles. Of course, after seeing that face up there, I doubt you'd believe I had any feminine wiles to begin with. (Ignore how awkward my hair looks. It really is the same length on both sides, you just can't tell in this picture.)

I'd like to be able to grow a mustache, but then have it fall right off afterwards, like one of those sticky hand things you get in those 25 cent machines at cheap restaurants that stick to a surface for a grand total of 3 seconds and then are never sticky again. It would be glorious.

It could be used in many situations, not just to make people take me seriously.

If someone cut me off in traffic, I'd drive up next to them (if there is an available lane) and grow a mustache at them.

If they saw my awesome display of manliness, they'd be sure to have a wreck and then I'd never have to deal with them and their road-assery ever again.

If they don't, then it will fall off and I'd have an extra mustache in my car that I could sell to any prepubescent boy for thirty bucks.

If there's a chump at the office who keeps eating my food and "borrowing" paperclips, I'd grow my mustache several hundred times until I had enough mustaches to make a cat. Then, I'd scatter them all over their office space.

When they come back and witness the colossal amounts of mustaches, they'd be humbled by my advanced ability to sprout hair and come to realize the errors of their ways.

I could pose as a Jehovah's Witness and, when the gullible soul that answered to my knock appears, I'd ask them, "Have you found Jesus today?" They'd politely agree since they really didn't want to talk to me because they'd rather be watching Jersey Shore and eating fat free yogurt.

But before they can shut the door in my evangelizing face, I'd shout, "I DON'T THINK YOU HAVE!" Then, BAM. Mustache.

 Now, they found Jesus. (That was really sacrilegious. I'm sorry to those who are sensitive about that, but Jehovah's are a laughing matter.) They'd be an instant convert.

And that's just the beginning.

I could use the extra mustaches to stuff the inside of a homemade pillow.

I could use them as fish bait because every good angler knows that all fish all want facial hair.

Using my awesome skill and the power of YouTube, I could end up on Oprah and then begin showcasing my superhuman mustache power around the world.

But, NO. Biology will never let me have my dream. Never. Because I'm a girl and girls don't grow 1337 awesome mustaches that fall off after three seconds.

Well, screw you, DARWIN.

I'll grow a mustache if I want to!

Put that in your pipe and BLOW ON IT.

I'm out of here. I'm going to go set a pair of shoes on fire and throw them on a telephone line.

Peace off.