Hair Today
by Michael C. Keith
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: One mild one only.
Description: Two friends face the bald truth.
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We’re all born bald, baby. – Telly Savalas
I look in the mirror and see a somewhat older guy with a decent head of hair. Of course, years ago it was really thick and wavy . . . and dark brown. Really enviable crop up there back then, but not so bad now either, I think. And then a friend calls me baldy.
“Huh? What the hell do you mean? You’re the bald one. Not me,” I growl, reaching for the back of my head where I know my hair has gotten a little thinner.
He chuckles at my response and crinkles his brow as if he knows something that I don’t. I’m still pissed at his remark, and I tell him that his forehead has pushed his hairline to the back of his neck. He’s suddenly less amused than he was.
“Yeah, well your bald spot looks like Oklahoma,” he counters.
“What the hell does that even mean?” I ask, ready to launch a counteroffensive.
“It means,” says he, “that you got wide open spaces back there.”
My blood pressure is rising as I shoot at his bow rather than over it.
“You have so little hair left that a comb over wouldn’t cover anything.”
My salvo is followed by a long awkward silence, which is finally broken by our female colleague.
“Hey, you two cue balls, want to have lunch today?” she says in her usual wise-ass manner.
“Sure,” we reply, giving one another a hard look.
Swearwords: One mild one only.
Description: Two friends face the bald truth.
_____________________________________________________________________
We’re all born bald, baby. – Telly Savalas
I look in the mirror and see a somewhat older guy with a decent head of hair. Of course, years ago it was really thick and wavy . . . and dark brown. Really enviable crop up there back then, but not so bad now either, I think. And then a friend calls me baldy.
“Huh? What the hell do you mean? You’re the bald one. Not me,” I growl, reaching for the back of my head where I know my hair has gotten a little thinner.
He chuckles at my response and crinkles his brow as if he knows something that I don’t. I’m still pissed at his remark, and I tell him that his forehead has pushed his hairline to the back of his neck. He’s suddenly less amused than he was.
“Yeah, well your bald spot looks like Oklahoma,” he counters.
“What the hell does that even mean?” I ask, ready to launch a counteroffensive.
“It means,” says he, “that you got wide open spaces back there.”
My blood pressure is rising as I shoot at his bow rather than over it.
“You have so little hair left that a comb over wouldn’t cover anything.”
My salvo is followed by a long awkward silence, which is finally broken by our female colleague.
“Hey, you two cue balls, want to have lunch today?” she says in her usual wise-ass manner.
“Sure,” we reply, giving one another a hard look.
About the Author
Originally from Albany, New York, Michael C. Keith has paternal family roots stretching back to Clan Keith of Caithness and Aberdeenshire. A leading scholar in electronic media in the United States, he is the author of over 20 books on electronic media, as well as a memoir and three books of fiction. Much more about Michael and his publications can be found on his website: http://www.michaelckeith.com