Post 1947 - Well, That Was Fun

One of those days that help me appreciate the weekends all the more.  Which is 2 days from now.  Sigh.

I have been going on and on about my hair on my Facebook and Twitter.  I haven't been saying much about it here.  I have decided to groom and condition it much more frequently.  The result has been fabulous hair, the kind that would make the Great Reveen green with envy and cause many a woman to turn the air blue with invective. 

I wish they would stop.  It is not my fault that I am an accident of genetics here.  My father retained a pretty much full head of hair until the last few years of his life.  It would make sense for that to be passed along to me.  

Of course, it is hard not to gloat, as evidenced by the following pictures:

As you can see, my hair is becoming quite grey.  I have had a hard life, worrying about and caring for my hair.  It is a burden, having such amazing hair.  Unless you have hair like mine, you won't understand.

Every morning I get up extra early.  I hop in the shower --  sometimes naked, sometimes not --  and concentrate on washing my hair thoroughly, being careful not to miss a single follicle.  I was always told, "Look after the pennies, and the dollars will look after themselves."  I apply the same principle to my hair.  Look after each follicle, and the locks will look after themselves.  

As I wash my hair, I introduce a special conditioner, whose name I will not specify lest you try it out for yourself and get hair similar to mine, which would be devastating to me on a personal level.  I make sure it caresses my hair and works its internal magic.  Afterward, I prepare for my working day.

At work, of course, I receive numerous comments about my hair, many of them from men who would kill to have my hair, but never will.  All they can do is look forlornly, as my hair regards them sardonically.  They have receding hair lines (ha! ha!), pattern baldness (tee hee!), and even a combover or two (who are they trying to kid?).  A few have embraced their baldness and have somehow convinced themselves that "bald is beautiful".  

Poppycock.  

Pshaw. 

Folks, bald is beautiful in the same way that kittens left in an oven at 375 degrees for 30 minutes are biscuits.  

(Sorry for the mental image.)

As the day moves along, my hair perks right up and shows no sign of wilting during my daily travails.  Here it is, nearly 10:30 at night, and you can see that my hair is even more beautiful.  

Tomorrow will be much like today.  Friday will be much like Thursday.  Day in, day out.  Hair looking good, and only looking better.

Ah!  Something that I'm good at that comes naturally to me.  

I love it.

See you tomorrow.

Bevboy