Off the top of my head, I have very little to say about hair. It and I have had a major falling out over the past fifteen years or so. In fact, I first sought out a dermatologist about my receding hairline when I was in my mid-20’s. He gave me this black ointment that smelled like axle grease to spread on my forehead while showering in the faint hope that it might slow down the recession. As with my hair itself, he and I quite soon had a parting of the ways. As I have related here before, even at the tender age of eight, an encounter with ringworm left me with a premature bald spot that forever after made me a huge fan of the old Carl Anderson comic strip, “Henry”.
[Conversely, I regularly shave my body as the random and sparse nature of my hair there put me squarely in the middle between bear and twink (the term “blink” comes to mind).]
In summation, when it comes to my appearance, hair has always been an issue. At least here and now I can say that I have perhaps gotten a little of my frustration off my chest.
© 25 January 2016
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