My husband had a regular mustache when I married him. He grew a fumanchu and then applied wax to curl it up into a "dastardly whiplash" sort of thing. I remember begging him to cut his 'stache straight across again. No dice. I remember hanging onto him, begging him...and we ended up with me hanging onto his ankle, dragging me across the floor as he exited the bathroom and walked down the hall into the living room, refusing to cut that ickiness off! In all honesty, it was a lighthearted moment and actually a fond memory...both of us were laughing all the way!
But I did get the last laugh. One day soon after, he asked me to trim his 'stache. I was oh, so happy to do so. Oops! And then it was straight across again!
Years later, he told me he told me he was going to cut his 'stache off. OK, then I will cut my hair! His 'stache remained intact, as did my hair, which was below my waist. After he died, I cut my hair...to just below my chin. Today, my hair is just below my ears.
How life and death changes things!