E 'around 12 years that I discovered the wax to be heated. Soon after I started to take off mustache to all my friends, and less glabrous glabrous (except Best Friend reticent, stubborn as mules seven, but that's another story).
Therefore, even the times of the medium, none of those who came to do my homework for me (or just a snack) and escaped to my willing lesta generosity: Heat the pan and then wham, wham, in two moves mustache disappeared and pure lip was outlined. My friends after urletti pain of pragmatics (that unnerved me greatly, because my nanny at one point was clear from the beginning "must appear to suffer") is checking in front of the mirror my room making their way with the look of the entries in pencil: Woodstok: 3 days of peace and love music, I LOVE YOU STUPID MUSSO; It 's a year you come back : If you move step maybe (just to name a few).
's activity paraestetista started immediately after the onset of puberty was (and still is) an expression of the' irresistible impulse to help the universe, which is typical of aquariums and irritating to the placid Toro, then for Future Grandpa Biological and adoptive grandfather, prone to astral categorical imperative, to take care only of themselves and a few other intimates.
One thing leads to. Having learned to make the mustache I specialized in reading tarot cards. Beware, though: according to codes developed by me, distant as the moon from the conventional, or strictly aimed first to investigate the friend's personal-questioner and then provide tips on how to get the best weapons and tools had a dowry from 'interaction between genetics and environment. My tarot cards, then as now intended only to her friends, also love debating on request, ie they are able to predict the arrival of gorgeous Prince Charming and the emergence of intrigue, passion, dating adventures of a rare intensity and hit and run (like those of "Sex and the City or Desperate Housewives).
So my friends month after month, year after year, after shine shine, have learned to play on my door every time it becomes urgent need for them or not to look more like Frida Kahlo (this putative Grandpa and Grandpa Organic does not understand the universe but all women do) or to listen to, just to dream a little bit with open eyes, a tale packed for them (with the influential support tarot) or both.
So my friend Marika, a sort of Erin Brockovich is the number of children for attractiveness and humor and courage and frailty, began to say, for example:
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;First Hello. Can I come to you for a while 'mustache & tarot?>> Or \u0026lt;\u0026lt;Ho 30 minutes and you can come to me for triste: baffi&tarocchi?>>, or \u0026lt; ; \u0026lt;Saturday the kids are away: woww a blaze of tarot & mustache. "
And so it was that these two words have become part of the lexicon of family and all my other friends, to refer generically to the wonderful opportunity to have some 'time to go small, then that would be gross but apt metaphor for the fuck.
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