I stood before a mirror in our bathroom last night, grasping my hair with both hands, a grimace slashing my face.
“What’s the matter?”
Ah, my ever-perceptive wife.
“This hair is driving me nuts,” I said of the mop erupting in a world without professional haircuts. “I look like Donald Trump.”
I uttered that last remark with less than zero forethought, but I’m sure I meant it only as a reference to the man’s extravagant doo. Really.
“No. You. Don’t,” my wife said. Her tone echoed how we once spoke to our children when they said stupid things, like “I’m s-o-o-o bored. There’s never anything to do around here!”
Then, after a pause crafted with an actor’s precision for emphasis, she spoke again.
“Your hair’s not orange.”
Not helpful. Not helpful at all.
Weeks ago, I wrote about my hair dilemma, one shared by millions: buzzcut or ponytail.
Now you know I’ve so far opted against buzzcut, based mainly on my wife’s “advice.” I think she thinks my hair will outlast pandemic.
But I may not. Buzzcut’s looking ever better.
30-Second Read on hair
Cats, pot, chest hair and more
