When you wax your upper lip, there's always ONE that manages to escape . . . . draws itself back into the pore at the first sniff of Veet, then, at the most embarrassing time, shoots out, silently and very noticeably.
You don't realise why people are looking at you oddly until you nip to the loo in the pub, wash your hands and glance at the mirror . . . and there it is at the corner of your mouth . . . shining white . . . about two inches long . . . like a walrus . . .
Edited for several spelling errors