Flicking my ingrowing hair

The urge

My penchant for making small talk leading to interesting conversations and possible friendships is one I enjoy very much, but it does not always work out like that. There are times I have spoken out of turn creating avoidable embarrassment or out of certain curiosity or enthusiasm, put my foot right in it, I might well sink into the quagmire of mortification.

Nature itself can be cruel in the joke she plays on us. I saw a man the other day who seemed to have patterns of intriguing amusement shaped at the back of his head as if a barber had created designs that looked like two big eyes sitting on the edges of a maple leaf-looking representation.

The purge

In my amusement, I said to him, those look like eyes, to which he responded, alopecia. All I could say was, “Forgive me.”, even as I upbraided myself for being too forward and probably not observant enough. Then who would have thought the loss of hair would come in such uniformity as to look like it was designed rather than a natural thing?

Then hair has its many stories between those who want it to grow in some places they do not need it to appear and those who cannot grow it for the want of trying, out of loss or what nature intended.

The scourge

The many jokes made of how your hair is cut or shaped, the malevolence of the Pọmbé haircut that took an inch off all the sides, it seemed you have a rag placed on your head, or when it was all taken off and I was called Jagoo at school. Why my dad allowed that to happen still escapes me.

Now, that I have male pattern baldness, another side of ribbing comes into play. Yes, this time, I was supposedly flicking my ingrowing hair. Revenge is a dish best served cold; I am waiting the table of that cool customer.