I am ten years old; I watch a horror movie with my nephew, I get frightened and look for my daddy around, He comes with a scruffy, narrow mustache; with a clomping sound, "It's okay, sweetheart," He embraces me close to his chest to my rescue.
I am thirty years old; I suffer from postpartum depression. I get annoyed at my husband, with a peppery mustache, who has never been atrocious. My hormones yet to reset makes me into a beast so ferocious, still, he says, "It's okay honey, you can show me your aggression."
I am eighty years old; I can't pee on my own. My daughter with a heavy coal-black hair appears, who is equivalent to any man with mustache volunteers, "You can ask me for assistance at any time mother, you are not alone."
written by, Gajalakshmi Gunasekaran