Mutton Chops

Facial hair. This is my go-to conversation starter (which is perhaps the reason I have trouble meeting new people). It usually starts out innocently enough, a comment about the state of one's own beard, or how great one would look with a beard, or (if I am talking to a female) I will point at someone and talk about their beard (or lack thereof). And so I whet my appetite for facial hair in this unobtrusive, familiar territory. I can then make natural segues into other styles of facial hair - first a goatee, then a mustache, then a handlebar mustache, and finally, my natural resting point - mutton chops. I have learned, in somewhat devastating social interactions throughout the years, that it is vital to never initiate a conversation with talk of mutton chops, as this is not considered a normal or interesting conversation topic to the average person.

What's the allure of mutton chops, you might ask, and why have I decided to dedicate this blog post to them, when it is clear they are already prominent topic in my life? Well, my dear friends, to answer these questions I will take you all on a journey to a small Pennsylvania drinking establishment...

[here you would imagine twinkling music and/or some kind of fuzzy fade-out to cement the fact that you're time-traveling to last Saturday night]

I had agreed to go out with my parents for a casual drink, and my expectations for the evening were low. While on a dance floor that I had created of my own accord (i.e. I was the only one in the bar dancing) I spotted them across the room. They. were. outstanding. The most glorious pair of mutton chops I have seen outside of an 18th century portraiture. This man was stately, regal, wordly, and just a touch of a badass, clearly. I couldn't keep my eyes off of him. Luckily I have dance moves that attract a certain amount of attention, and I believe I subconciously lured him over. (Coincidentally I was also near the pool table, which also may have lured him over, as the only attention I was actively getting was from a man in flannel with very few teeth who clearly had no one in his life.)

I spent the rest of my evening observing his every interaction, when fate (or thirst) struck and drew him to the bar. He sidled next to me and attempted to get the busy bartender's attention. It was now or never. I looked over at him. I looked back at my drink. I looked at him again, and cleared my throat. What follows is an exact transcript of our conversation, the likes of which I can never hope for again. This, my friends, could have been the greatest night of my life.

Me: Excuse me, could I ask you a question?
Mutton Chops: Me? Sure.
[he was friendlier than I could have ever imagined, I almost passed out at this point]

Me: Would you... Do you have... Would you call those... mutton chops?

Mutton Chops: I would.

Me: Proudly?

Mutton Chops: Very.
Me: I just wanted to tell you that I'm a huge fan of the look, and you wear them well.

Mutton Chops: Thank you! You don't see them much around here, they're way more common in the south.

Me: Well, they look great.

Mutton Chops: Yeah, I'm just trying new things out, I recently had a mohawk that I shaved off for a job interview. [I would like to forget this part forever, but this is an honest transcript of the conversation, so alas, it must remain.]

Me: I mean, your face is a canvas.

Mutton Chops: That's so true. Hey, what's your name?...

[fade back to the present]

Unfortunately, any true connection we might have established was swiftly ruined with my father and his damned drunken friendliness. He walked over and hijacked the conversation and Mutton Chops quickly found an excuse to spirit away from his incessant chattering. Nevertheless, it was one of my life's proudest moments, a climactic experience that has left me wondering if I have peaked at 21. Will life be a downward spiral from this momentous point on? Dear readers, only time will tell. I can only hope that there are more Mutton Chops out there and this chance encounter marks the first of many to come.