It Takes All Kinds

This morning I stopped at the post office to get my mail and had to make my way around two people who stood talking smack dab in the middle of the doorway. They were so deep in conversation, or so rude, that they didn't budge, forcing me to literally squeeze by to get inside. The woman was telling a story about someone who had come "running down the steps and out the front door, screaming like a banshee!" They both laughed heartily at that. The man had a very large handlebar mustache, making me think he must have had a difficult childhood.

The whole experience got me thinking about how people are all so different and yet all so alike. The woman had said someone was screaming like a banshee, but before she even said "banshee" and had just said "screaming like," my own brain filled in the word banshee and out it came from her mouth, even though I am clueless as to what a banshee is and why it is always screaming. I wondered if the woman knew the answer to either question.

As for the man, I couldn't imagine what possible reason one could have for walking around looking so ridiculous, and so when I got home I searched online and found that there is a club for men with such mustaches, and a Facebook fan page, and all sorts of apparatus for taking care of them. Apparently they are very popular with a lot of men both here and abroad, although I can't imagine why since they look silly and require so much care, what with the washing and waxing and shaping and trimming. It's sort of like wearing a pet on your face.

As for the banshee, it turns out it's a female supernatural being in Irish and other Celtic folklore whose mournful wailing, screaming or lamentation at night was believed to foretell the death of a member of the family of the person who heard the spirit. Or else maybe she just saw a man with a dumb handlebar mustache.