Writer. Warning: opinions. My lawyer advised a disclaimer, but didn't include any jokes to go with. Damned if I can think of any either.

The Wind Bag Gets a Haircut

My head, in addition to containing the frivolous and neurotic weasels that make up my brain, handles all my looking, hearing, and blabbing. There’s also a measure of snot production, but that process is not well understood by my mind weasels, so I will leave it out.

It also serves as the only real port of entry into my guts, though in my younger days I did put a few things up my nose. I am older and wiser now, you’ll be glad to hear.

Yes, my head is the metropolis of my body. The rest of me is comprised mostly of less interesting countryside, with a few points of interest, depending, of course, upon your definition of “interest”.

My head, being the Atlanta to the rest of me’s Georgia, makes an effort to keep itself warm by turning a portion of the food that I introduce into my stomach into hair. Some of it grows on the top and back of my head, some grows on my face, and some attempts to bridge the gap between my eyebrows so that I will look as stupid as possible.

These I occasionally remove with the use of tweezers and swearing.

Most of the facial and eyebrowial hair is easy for me to see, and so I can regulate its length and style. In this way I mitigate the stupidity of my appearance in hopes that I can explore someone else’s points of interest. I’m intrepid like that.

However, the hair that grows out of the top and back of my head is hard for me to see, as well as hard for me to properly reach, so I pay someone else to cut and style it for me. There is a business located not one hundred yards from my front door that offers these services, and I set an appointment yesterday to have them performed.

Long story short, it was a great experience. Not only is the place close enough to walk to — I could probably somersault there without too much effort — but I got a great haircut, and even more importantly, the girl who cut my hair asked me about me the whole time. Yes! I got to blab uninterrupted about myself for nigh on an hour. It was great.

I even tried asking her about her life a few times, but she quickly steered the conversation back to me, which was bait that I instantly took like the great big self-absorbed windbag that I am.

I can’t wait to get my hair cut again next time.