Kat and Edward had gone to Portobello market on Friday morning before college. For Edward it turned out to be the location of a style epiphany. While Kat was mooning over a Victorian lace baby’s bonnet and matching bootees––or “bits of tat” as Edward had deemed them––he spotted his own intriguing item: A moustache cup.
Now here was one who regularly scoffed at the ‘tache wearing cool kids swaying in the doorways of East London. “Oh, how ironic I am, look how how ugly I can make myself look, aren’t I great?” On more than one occasion he had been heard declare, “That hairy trend needs to be buried.”
But when he picked up the cup with its matching saucer, he saw anything but the Shoreditch hipster reflected in the china. He saw the dashing dandies of bygone eras.
“But you don’t even drink tea,” Kat reminded him. This was true. Nor coffee, nor any hot beverage, really, not even soup. The closest thing to Tetley he partook of was a hot toddy.
He maintained cheeks as smooth as a head boy’s, proud of his chiselled jaw so why would he submerge it under a pelt?
But when the seller explained that these cups were popular with the moustache-wearing Victorian gentlemen who waxed their upper lip adornments to keep them nice and stiff, Edward was moved to run his finger along his naked upper lip.
They were symbols of the bourgeoisie, not hipsterdom. Hmmmm….
Of course, approach the moustache with a steaming hot cup of tea, the seller continued to explain, and the wax melted, dripped right into your tea. And, don’t forget, tea also stained the mustache.
It was the delicacy of the whole operation that appealed to Edward’s sensibilities. A ledge was erected inside the cup and the pampered moustache rested itself there while the scalding liquid bypassed even the strayest hairs and slid neatly into the parched owner’s open gob.
“Let’s get this straight, I will not boast any grubby five o’clock shadow,” he warned the seller. Kat smiled over at her.
Nor would he enter the hirsute excess of the bears who approached him sometimes in the bars on a Saturday night. “I am tinkering with the idea of a small shapely one,” he admitted. “One that looks…historical.”
“Watch out, or I’ll call you Scruff,” teased Kat, pinning a cameo brooch onto her mitten. “How long will it take?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t expect it’ll take too long when you think of the people who grow them already.” Although, truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure. What if he was incapable of cultivating one? Some men are.
Then the seller produced the pièce de résistance: A moustache spoon.
“That settles it, I’ll take the lot,” decided Edward. “I might not drink tea but I do eat cornflakes. Every morning!”
Want to spend more time with Edward and Kat? You can buy Silk for the Feed Dogs here.