Even though my family members have successfully proven to the world that they are considerably smarter than I am, given enough time I’m planning eventually to be an egg-head too. No I’ll probably never know complicated math or be able to do crossword puzzles without adding in a few extra black squares to fit MY solutions. But fortunately, time is on my side since every day nature takes my soft n’ boiled noodle one step closer to naked noggin nirvana.
Overall I’ve had a good relationship with my follicle fur and we usually have remained friends through thick and THIN (though recently our times together have tended toward the latter). When I was younger my fuzzy filaments did not always do my bidding or act the way I preferred, but what teenager ever listens to its guardian so it was understandable that whenever we parted ways, grease was ultimately involved. I guess I have been lucky overall since most of my life I’ve had ample hair raising’ close calls even though they usually concerned curly cowlicks and bed-head lasting impressions rather than any actual downy danger.
As I age though, I have begun to notice that I am spending less and less quality time with my old and gray shock of locks, and it’s clear we are heading for ‘splits-ville’. Even my hats don’t want much to do with me any longer and seem to use any excuse to abandon my shiny dimpled dome, though that may be just the sweaty ski-slope n’ sunblock up top talking. The good news is that with every hair that I share and shed in my travels helps me lose weight and better yet conveniently distributes confusing DNA evidence in case I’m ever accused of a CAPital crime.