As the son of a bald man and the grandson of a man with a strikingly bold mustache, it's no wonder that Archer has developed a sort of Pavlovian love for men with few hairs on their heads and much hair on their faces. The attraction is instant. A man with a mustache gets behind in line at the Trader Joes' checkout and Archer is immediately smitten. "Hi!" He usually says, breaking the ice before blowing a thousand and one kisses and flailing at the poor confused man, offering him spastic hugs.
"It's your mustache," I find myself saying on such occasions. "My son has a thing for mustaches."
"Oh... kay." is the usual response, followed by ten awkward minutes of me trying to distract Archer from the stranger's stache with Pirate's Booty
Unfortunately for Archer, the mustache has been added to the endangered species list in recent years. Unfairly stolen from the modern man by porn-stars and Tom Seleck and worse: mocked by urban hipsters who choose to wear the mustache as an ironic statement. Totally selling-short the classic-rock that is the old-school mustache.
Take my dad, for instance. He's been all 'stached up for thirty some-odd years! That shit's vintage. A classic. Viva la mustachelucion!
The bald head is another must-have accessory for anyone who wants to befriend Archer in any real way and over the weekend it was clear to all of us that the "bald man" was indeed the "ideal man" when it came to being a trusted confidante and compadre to Archer while traveling.
It all started with Hal's father who is somewhat if not, pretty much bald. Archer loved him. He was ready and able for cuddles any old time Grandpa Norman fancied.
And then? Upon meeting Hal's friend, Ben? Psh! It was like no one else existed. Ben waved at Archer, introduced himself and immediately Arch was reaching for "uncle Ben" to pick him up and carry him around South Beach on his shoulders.
He offered him high-fives, hugs and kissed his cheeks repeatedly throughout the day. "Hi!" he'd say to Ben, over and over. And whenever Ben scurried ahead of him he would look around, concerned and echo, "where'd he go?" until Ben was safely in clear view.
"It's the bald head," I tried explaining to Hal's hairy-headed friend, Michael. I didn't want his feelings to be hurt. "Archer's more comfortable with the bald-look. You know, because of Hal..."
"Yeah. I figured."
"Maybe one day, if you ever go bald Archer will like you," I said, not really joking at all, half-joking.
As for me? I have hair on my head so I'll never be as cool as my husband or father-in-law or dad. And besides my stint as the bearded lady last Halloween, I don't think mustaches are in my future. Then again, I'm still young. Call me in sixty years and maybe I'll be hairless and hairy-faced cool enough to hang with the "crew"...
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