Member-only story
To The Two Hairs Growing Out of The Middle of My Forehead
Ummm….WTF?!?!?
Seriously dudes!
WTF?!?!
Haven’t I treated you well?
I mean I know I’ve often covered you and your brethren with hats, bandanas, headbands and, once, regrettably, with a doo rag, which might send the message I’m embarrassed by you. But don’t think I don’t love you!
You were once part of a strong proud Afro that was curly and tight enough to store action figures or feathers or, once again, regrettably, a comb.
You were never that freaky, but you were my freak flag and I loved you. And, I know many of the others have disappeared all together. I know you miss them; I know you are sad. Where have they gone? I like to think it’s Hawaii but I’m worried it’s my butt crack.
I know my shaving you every two weeks while cursing in the mirror may seem like I resent or hate you. I can see that. That’s on me. See, I’ve got this thing about aging. I’m weak and sensitive.
I’m not proud of my treatment of you, but it’s hard when the two of you stare me (and everyone else who shares my life) smack in the face almost mocking or teasing me.
Let’s make a deal, if you could just grow closer to either my beard or the rest of what remains of the hair on top of my head, I’ll stop with the ridiculing, the name calling and the cutting (even though I do love screaming “I’m gonna cut you good” each Monday morning).
Yours,
Tommy