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Peter is forcing a smile like a man trying very, very  hard to look unfazed. The moustache—thin, valiant, and wildly controversial—sits proudly atop his lip, the kind of facial hair that inspires equal parts admiration and HR inquiries. His friends have called it “a phase,” his coworkers have called it “not client-facing,” but we ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT! What no one realizes is that Peter loves  this moustache. He has named it. He has moisturized it. He has defended it in group ch

In this cherished family photo, Peter’s mom leans in with full, unrestrained affection, planting a kiss on her beloved son. It’s sweet. It’s wholesome. It’s heart-melting. It is also, in Peter’s mind, a catastrophic breach of protocol. Because in her enthusiasm, she has covered the majority of Peter’s perfect face. Behind his frozen half-smile, half-cheek, he is silently raging. This was supposed to be his  moment. His jawline. His angles. His legacy. Instead, the world sees

Take it from us, Peter looks objectively incredible - sun at his back, muscles carved like a Greek statue, waves crashing in the background in an almost cinematic way. It should  be his moment of glory. But there’s a fatal flaw: the photographer captured his left  side. Peter’s left side is fine (some would say great, even), but in his mind, it is not his good side . That honor belongs exclusively to the right, the side he has curated, trained, and strategically angled in eve