Christmas + Mustaches = Christmustaches!

Say it out loud. Christmustaches! Doesn't it have a charming quality to it? Such a perfect marriage of two words. And yet so strangely weird and beautiful at the same time. Kind of like a certain marriage between certain people I can think of.

So how did Chrismustaches come to be on Emmy's FIRST CHRISTMAS?

We were at Paper Source, my current favorite store in the whole world, past favorites include BCBG Max Azria for my skinnier carefree days, Banana Republic, Macys, Nordstrom, Express, and See's Candies, try the pineapple truffle, HEAVEN.

So as we stroll through the shop that I wish I owned and could live in a little cottage above making fresh blueberry muffins each morning and skipping down the stairs with Romeo + Tofu and maybe Coco if she promises not to pee on my floors because she's such a territorial maniac, The Good Doctor spots these mustaches. 7 different 'staches, because you need one for each day of the week, of course. And since he can't grow one, and I pluck mine, and Emmy's too young for waxing, The Good Doctor thinks it would be a fun gift for my little cousins. And maybe they'll let us wear them when they're done. I'm sold. Into the stroller goes the package.

Just as we're checking out, he has a flash of PURE GENIUS. Let's get another package of 'staches. And we can give them out as little welcome favors for his family and my family when they come over Christmas day. Don't ask me why I thought it was PURE GENIUS but it turned out to be PURE GENIUS.

We distributed them at some point during the festivities and totally relaxed the mood. Not that it wasn't relaxed, what with The Good Doctor in the backyard monitoring the deep fried turkey that we were frying for the FIRST TIME with NO thermometer because we bought the last turkey fryer at Target and it was suspiciously triple taped and we now realize why. BECAUSE THE THERMOMETER WAS BROKEN! The instrument with which you measure the dangerously hot vat of oil so that it doesn't become even more deadly when you lower the turkey into it. So we had to wing it. The Good Doctor had already lost hours of sleep waking up in cold sweats days before Christmas, thinking thinking thinking of all the things that had to be done to successfully fry a turkey without torching our lovely rental home. Or burning his face off.

So while he was out there praying to the Church of Deep Fried Turkey that we wouldn't have to feed everyone the back up dish--a very traditional Christmas chow mein or Christmein in the spirit of this post--I was inside semi-homemaking the rest of our semi-homemade meal for his parents and brother, and my aunt, uncle and two little cousins. And my parents.

It's not like everyone doesn't know everyone, but let's be honest, there is a bit of a cultural difference and when you layer that on top of the typical awkwardness of a dual family get-together, it's not like it was a raging fun party. The Asians sort of stuck to the kitchen and the Whites sort of mingled amongst themselves politely.

But the Christmustaches marked a turning point. They were a game-changer. You could not NOT laugh with The Good Doctor's brother and dad layering their Christmustaches on top of their current mustaches, and his mom looking like Sonny Bono, and my cousin Jessica looking like Charlie Chan, and Emmy looking like a baby trying to lick a furry gray caterpillar on her upper lip.

And my parents looking oddly normal with their Christmustaches as Emmy gave them her classic, "And who the hell are you?" look that she fondly gives to everyone who is not Mommy, Daddy, or Asian Grandma. Do I think everyone should run out and buy a pack of 'staches for Christmas? Yes. Yes I do. It makes for a very merry Christmustache!