January Has Been Excommunicated.

Peanuts.  Look at this picture. Just look at it!

Aw.  A sweet photograph.  A father, playing with his daughter.  Spending a lovely Sunday cherishing his baby, making Her little eyes shine with joy by complimenting Her superior fake-tea brewing, and the excellent qualities of Her invisible milk and sugar.  Stirring with a teeny-tiny spoon, indulging Her with mimicked sips.  How darling.  How cute!
But wait.
Something is wrong, with this picture.  Something just...out of place...not quite right.....
Something is there, that doesn't belong.  Did you spot it yet, Peanuts? 
Do you see it? Look closely.
Hmmmm, you're thinking, scanning over the pink tea cups, the rumpled weekend hair, the face of my dear, beloved husband- I don't see any- wait. Wait a minute! Is...that....? No! It can't be! Is that a...?!
Oh.  Let me tell you friends.  Brace for it.  Yes it is.
That, is a MUSTACHE.
A terrible thing hath come to pass, in the internal medicine department of the hospital where my J spends the vast majority of his life.  A terrible, horrible thing.  And this thing hath been so named:
"Mustache Manuary".
Oh yes. Yes it actually has. And I know this because J, entering it as evidence into his defense, sent me a copy of the inter-departmental email stating the official Mustache Manuary decree.  In it, J pointed out that not only is "everyone doing it", but that the Manuary Decree clearly states that anyone backing down from the furry challenge and shaving (or being shaved by their wives in their sleep) before the month is out will be shamelessly and ruthlessly ridiculed and ostracized.
Apparently, being a doctor is the same thing as being in a frat.  Who knew.
So, in showing solidarity with the other, erm, professionals (that people entrust their lives to how scary is that) J has entered into Mustache Manuary with enthusiasm.  A little too much of it, if you ask me. 
Listen.  If you are a year-round mustachioed man, no offense.  One of my very favorite people on earth has been a mustache man for most of my life! In fact I can barely imagine the man without it.  That would be my dad.  Whiiiich makes the 'stache all the more incongruous when it pops up on the face of the guy I like to make out with.  Ah!
Now, you might think that I would do a little photo shop work this month.  That I might don dark sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat in public, but no. Here I am, pointing it out to you.  This is because:
A.  I cannot live a lie.   This kind of dark secret can eat you from the inside, Peanuts.  Eat. You. Alive. Like the caterpillar that has eaten J's lip.
B. I'm on a good complaining roll this month and this is a great addition to my whining collection.
C. I have an evil, conniving streak, and I want there to be proof of this.  Proof.  In case I ever need some good blackmail material.
D.  I have an evil, conniving streak and I want there to be proof of this.  Because someday I am going to want to do something completely ridiculous that will make J cringe and groan, and I will remind him of this Manuary and that he owes me.
E. It's kind of funny.
And there you have it, Peanuts. You are all my witnesses.
Now, I love the big lug and I think he's handsome no matter what happens.  Even if it causes me to think of my dad a little bit, or Ron Burgundy. And to understand fully why closing eyes during kissing was invented (It was probably started back in the 19th century when those hideous handlebars and porkchop sideburns were in vogue).
But I can tell you that between Little One's illnesses, the Ban, and the 'Stache, January 2011 is not going to end fast enough or in my good graces.  Oh excuse me, Manuary.
Curse you, Manuary! If you were a tangible entity I would flick you right on the nose! But since I can't, I will just ignore you, and hope you go away.  I will look forward to February.  A month about Love, and our mother's birthdays, and chocolate. 
As far as I'm concerned, the New Year starts in 17 days.