Uh-uh, I said. No way. Mustaches are creepy and gross. Cicada was disappointed, but I stood resolute. That is, until just over a week ago, when I suddenly found myself making a deal with my coworker Chris that we would grow mustaches for two weeks. It all happened kind of fast. He had just read that Eric Holder was chosen to be Obama’s attorney general, and I made some disparaging comment about his mustache. Chris got defensive, and then I said, “If you love mustaches so much, why don’t you grow one?” Then he said, “I will if you will,” and then we were shaking on it. When I reported this story later on my forum, Icarus said, “It sounds like you lost.” Yeah, I think I did.

. . . or did I?

Unfortunately, the problem has not really gone away as I’ve gotten older. After graduation I grew a goatee, and I think it added a few years to my apparent age. But when I shaved it off to come back to BYU, I realized immediately that I still have a very young-looking face.

The other day in one of my classes we went around the room and introduced ourselves. I said that I’d graduated and worked a few years and that I had just come back for a master’s degree. One girl asked how old I am, and when I said that I was 27, she said, “You have such a baby face!” I wasn’t sure how to respond, but she said it was a compliment.

Then today I went to pick up a pizza, and the guy who rang me up asked how old I am. (He was foreign, though I couldn’t tell where he was from—obviously some culture where it’s okay to ask complete strangers how old they are.) When I told him my age, he acted surprised. He said, “You look 20, 21.” Wow. I knew I looked young, but I was still hoping for at least 23 or 24 by now.

I’m sure looking young for your age is a great thing—when you’re at least in your 30s. Maybe I’ll start appreciating such comments in a few more years.