They are an appendage which stops a moustache from getting wet, and generally look something like this.
Invented in the mid to late nineteenth century by a British potter Harvey Adams. The exact circumstances around the fabled creation are known to a select few individuals. The popular misconception is Adams was torn from slumber after a vivid dream. In a mad rush, sweaty and disoriented he wrote the details on the wall using his wife’s lipstick. It goes something as follows.
“I was sitting at my turnpike swiveling clay when a strange noise filled the air. It seemed to come from yonder. A mystical sound; like a slightly out of tune harp, being played by a particularly romantic jockey with small stubby fingers. I opened the window and was greeted by the sight of a small jockey playing a harp. He was barely able to reach the furthermost strings. It was a terrible sight.
“Private property” I told him and mustered my most menacing gaze. “get off my land, I’ll have no bloody beggars under this potters pottery.”
he stopped and looked at me incredulously. 'don’t ye know who I am?' "
At this point the lipstick ran out. It is understood his wife tore him to sheds soon after.
The lesser known alternative to this ridiculous tale rings closer to the truth.
Being kicked out of his own home after mysterious events surrounding his wife’s lipstick Adams met a beautiful Welsh woman one night at the circus.
He spotted her from afar as he was entering a circus tent on the edge of town. It was a brief moment, and although their eyes only met for a second Adams was in love. The odd looking lights went out as he found his seat the woman fell from view, but not his heart. “ladies and gentlemen. Boys and girls. Welcome to Descovskys' Traveling Emporium!” the ringleader called.
In a flash the lights came back on. Lions, muscle men, clowns, tight rope walkers, midgets, beasts of indescribable shapes and sizes filled the chaotic ring below. As the show stretched on he grew tired. attention was elsewhere, continuously scanning the audience for another gaze into her beautiful eyes.
Disenchanted he left early and thought about heading home to apologise to his wife, or at least sleep in the garden. He was kicking stones, scuffing his shitty shoes, when he noticed the woman only a few metres ahead. . She was slender in the right parts and plump in others. Just to his liking. This welsh goddess was singing softly to herself and had the voice of a well tuned harp played moderately well. How long had she been there? No idea. He broke into a cold sweat, swore under his breath. “fuck”. but a little louder than he’d hoped, as it came out more like “FUCK!” She jumped, startled, tripped over, landing on her ankle with a sickening THWAK! “FWUUUUUURRRRCK!” she cried out. A panicked Adams rushed over in a fit of apologies. She looked up from the sick wound. He froze. “The Moustachiod Welsh Wonder” he gasped.
And the rest is history.
Max.
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