you, my friend, need to hear the story my old friend eugene kovacs told me about an event during his boyhood in romania:
"my father, he had vinyards and made the wine. but he did not drink the wine except for one night each year. and then the next day he would come down and oh, his head. and my mother, she would wag his finger at him! and he would say, "woman! *i* am one with moustache!"
dep