Polishing...

This is what I don't like: moustaches, polish and brass, so the prompt gives me the creeps and I have no idea what to talk about to get this into a story, which I'm not going to do. In our family, moustaches and beards are not the standard and we think Saint Nick is just about okay. The only person I know who had moustache grease was my uncle years ago and he smeared it in the hair of his grandson who was a few months old. I can still see him sitting there, proud or at least satisfied with what was finally born after a lot of misery. He never twisted the ends of his moustache and there was never a brass bust made of him, but I can still picture him very clearly. That in itself is strange because it was not the case that I saw him regularly during my childhood. He was definitely a weirdo in the eyes of many because he was not cuddly and did not shake hands (no, he did not suffer from germ phobia). When I was older we were good friends and he shared his dream and plans with me and I applauded it even though the rest of the family thought it was a ridiculous idea. Maybe it was the trolls in his living room, maybe we were both outsiders or maybe it was his words that he made as a casual remark when I was a few years old.

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The prompt (polish the brass moustache) is provided by @daily.prompt}