No, not the slimy, squiggly kind that fisherman use for bait as pictured to the left, but a far more insidious breed as pictured on the right. A breed that surreptitiously sneaks around at night doing a quick change act while I am cradled in the arms of sweet Morpheus.
Of course, I’m talking about my hair. It’s amazing. Over the past several years, it has pulled off a slight-of-hand that would impress even the Monarch butterfly, renowned king of migration. Somehow, little by little, the hair on my head was traversing the domain of my face and neck and setting up shop on my back. Yikes, this was not supposed to happen to me. But, along with the obvious cosmetic embarrassment, is the frustration of not being able to catch them in the act.
All I know is that several years back, while I was preoccupied with the daily happenings of family and work life, I began to notice that some of these little fellas had decided that my forehead was no longer fertile ground for cultivation. I accepted this, like many a man before me, as a sort of “rite of passage.” I even fantasized that it made me look more virile, ergo, more irresistible. I left it at that, thinking all the while those pesky follicles had just passed into a better life in a comfy drain pipe or wherever hair heaven was.
It was quite some time before I realized the error in that assumption. In that instance, while I was using a hand mirror to check on the progress of my “virile spot” (what less sophisticated men crudely refer to as a bald spot), the shocking truth jumped out at me. Those missing forehead hairs were now colonizing my back. My heretofore perfectly smooth-skinned back was now a nesting place for renegade fuzz. Yes, those dreaded night crawlers! I could picture them tip-toeing past their eyebrow cousins, giving a quick “how do you do” to my chin whiskers, then galloping on to the greener pastures of my dorsal region. That was it! The battle was joined. Something had to be done.
So you see why I’m asking for help to put a stop to this traitorous activity. And please don’t recommend any of those magical elixirs being hawked on TV infomercials during the wee hours. I’m still making payments on those 24 “Country Classic” CDs. However, if you happen to stumble on a medical article that might be the answer to my problem, please let me know. You can’t imagine what a hair-raising experience this has been.
2. Stop thinking about the Italian lady.
3. I’ll just borrow one or two in the meantime.
1. I don’t have that much.
2. You mean the fictitious Italian bombshell whose website you won’t give me?
3. If I may borrow a phrase from one of those country classics -“In your dreams, baby!”
1. What you have left is better because it’s silver. Silver is prettier.
2. The very one.
3. I’m beginning to think there are no 24 Country Classic discs.
1. Is that really your picture?
2. Too much information.
3. I want to listen to those CDs.
1. I wish.
2. I was going to blog about sagging boobs but don’t have any experience there.
3. Not until after I finish paying for them (around 2032).