When I think of mustaches, I automatically think of my Uncle Peter. He's had a mustache for as long as I can remember. He's my Dad's older brother.
Whenever we would go over to visit, he would always tell us to feel his mustache and then he would wiggle it and tickle our fingers.
He also loves golf and always lets us drive his golf cart. Last time I saw him in his home, I was really little. So, of course, he had to help me drive the golf cart. However, this summer, I got to steer all by myself, but he had to man the brakes for "safety reasons." He also swore I was ready for the car. :)