I am a moustache glued to a door. Not much happens, and the same people seem to pass by every day. Yet my apartment is well heated in the winter and ventilated in the summer. There is usually food on the table. Sometimes I am removed from my place on the door and worn around town. Then sometimes we go out to eat, I love when I get to strain the soup.

I suppose being a moustache is delightful any way you look at it.