Has everyone seen that picture on the site? The one of me with a bushy head of hair, hair to keep me warm on cold days, hair to swing around like I’m some kind of discount Fabio? Except without the Russian accent?
Yes…well, that hair is gone. I cut it two days ago.
Oh, stop crying, it wasn’t your hair. Too many people are living reciprocally through other people’s hairdos these days. When Elvis had the pompadour, wannabe rockers dropped to their knees and begged the Rock n’ Roll God to bestow upon them a bee-u-tiful head of oily locks. But those rockers begged too much and got the Fat Elvis treatment.
Thank you, thank you, thank you very–ooh, a doughnut!
Not to say I don’t like this new hairdo. It fits me, maybe not the free floating strands that, when they get in my eyes, piss me off and make me want to throw a chair at a wall. Kidding, that’s a bit much. I have to be careful or the Anger Management Police will lock me up for attitude.
Son, it’s the brig for you.
What for? I’m seventeen!
You wanna say what for again? Or do you wanna say what for, sir? Stuck up little millennial.
It is going to take some getting used to–this hair of mine. Honestly, it’s hard to resist the urge to slap on a ball cap sometimes, got this sweet OU hat–Go Sooners! Woo!–and it finally fits on my gigantic marble of a skull. But, for all I know, my mother would get mad at me for covering it up.
One sure thing I miss is the warmth. This is a near buzzcut I got going on. See, in the military, they don’t expect you to wear a scalped Chewbacca on yer back; back in my day, all we had was beaver skins, beaver skins and towels–those damn, dirty towels.
Sorry, got into my Old Man From ‘Nam routine there.
Hair! What do you do about it? You comb it, wash it; you get it sticky with syrup sometimes and a dog comes to the rescue as a personal vacuum. Yes, lick, lick; it’s all you’re good for anymore.
Or, when you go to bed with a mere cowlick, you wake up in the morning and it looks like God staged a hurricane on your head. You find Moses standing in your shower and, instead of a staff, he’s holding a shaving kit. He says, ” Hair, you shall not part”–oh, wait, wrong bearded dude.
Eh, it’s all the same.
They both got beards and staffs.