Homewrecker.
Hair is something that I have a schizoid relationship with. I've been growing mine for the past 3 years in an unconscious attempt to be the world's biggest girl's blouse. I like the way it looks, and I've begun to hold it as one of my defining characteristics, but living with it on a day-to-day basis is making me tear the damn stuff out. It's like the worst possible hybrid of pet and spouse. You have to feed it and water it constantly, pay attention to it, and ask it about it's feelings. And on top of all that, you can't have sex with it.
I've occasionally thought about having the entire thing cut off, but it takes a very specific face to pull off the skinhead look. You need a strong jaw, defined features and very little flab about the face. Most people will end up looking like a failed east-end gangster. Or in my case, an east-end gangster's girlfriend, to whom he's given the very special gift of alopecia.
Considering that male-pattern baldness is something that runs in my family, it seems downright wasteful to cut my hair. A drunk man once told me "Let yer hair grow!". Well, it was more shouted across the street. Along with "Ponce!". But the point stands. As long as I have the ability to grow hair, I think I ought to enjoy it, before I become another envious slaphead who glares at the more endowned.
Look at you sitting there, all happy and free, with hair on your head!
As a point of interest,the next time you have a conversation with one of the...follically challenged, wtch their eye movement. Their gaze will dart back and forth from your eyes to your scalp. See, to bald people, being near someone with hair is like waving a piece of steak in front of a hungry dog; he wants it so bad, but he can't figure out how to get it, and the moment you let your guard down, he will take it!
All in all, I feel less annoyed about my own hair.
But now I'm afraid to go outside...
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