Kristi: First of all, if you have a mustache covering your whole upper lip, I'm just going to assume you have mouth herpes. There are at least five or six blistery lesions all up in that caterpillar, festering and loving their warm little hair home. That look in his eyes only confirms it for me.
His private eyes are watching my every move. He looks like he's trying to crawl into my head through my eye sockets and read all my deepest thoughts and emotions, then use them against me to make me do his will. And I can't go for that. No can do.
Even more disconcerting, though, is that the look in Oates's eyes is almost obscured by his brow-mustaches. Browstaches. Boom. I just made that up.
Adam: Well done. As for that look, that's a look that makes things happen. Exciting things. Fun things. Sex things. That look is equal parts come hither seduction glance and warning to all other males in the room that the alpha has arrived. As if any of us would need a look to know that. By the time you see that mustache, it's already too late. Whatever lady you're talking to at the time immediately becomes property of the Oates. Unless you seal the deal and get the hell out of there in the delay that exists between the moment his mustache walks through the door and when the rest of him follows about 35 minutes later. It's sort of like waiting for a train to pass.
You know what that train is hauling? Machismo. Don't act like you don't want to ride that train, Harrison.