I must dash, Mr. Moustache. Farewell.

"Cats in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon
When you comin' home 'stache?
I don't know when, but we'll get together then son
You know we'll have a good time then"

Caitlin told me to shave off my moustache, and so I did. Slowly.
I'll admit, it was a terrible growth. I tried to grow it at too young an age, but I was used to the feeling. Moustaches are so amazing. So, please vow a minute of silence for my fallen son.

That aside, I'm already used to being naked-faced. Now, I'll grow another ... maybe later. When my face yields a good crop of hair. Straight, crimson shoots. Once I have a moustache I can actually be 100% proud of, and not just an experiment, I'll keep it. Caitlin disliked it, and I didn't treasure it too much, and so it died.
I also shaved my chin, which I personally saw as a major improvement. Here are Caitlin's documentations of the events. Be warned, the following content is graphic ... as all pictures are ... it's a stupid warning when you think about it.

I love the reactions, they reflect my feelings exactly. Fear and sadness turned into an obnoxious
pride which soon transformed into regret and finally, shock. Also, I need another haircut! My God, my hair grows too fast and I only comb it once a month ... and by 'my God', I mean your God. If you don't have a God just insert some other significant item; "my Necklace!", "my Hat!", "my Sockpuppet!", "my Psychopharmicological Encyclopedia!" or "my ... Moustache!".
Sad Face.

Adios.