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Maybe you're bald, maybe not, maybe you care, likely not; stories here, some funny, some not.

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Tuesday, August 24, 2010

this little head of mine

     People don't trust a small head. It's worrisome.
     Sometimes a worried person doesn't even know it's over the small head - he's got the sweats, he's looking at the guy with the small head, and he's getting more nervous by the second... In another moment or two there will be a fight, bloodshed, and nobody will know what it was about.
     I see people looking at me, casually, on the subway, in the library, they want to smile - I've got a kindly face, an honest aura, a nice behind - and they do, for a moment. And then it begins. It's the bald head; it makes the smallness that much more obvious, that much more worrisome; they squint, shift some newly noticed uncomfortable weight, shoo a fly that isn't there, and then squint again. I can feel the tension building, the mistrust. I want to say it, tell them what it is - "My head - it's small - it's got your worried, that's all!"
     But I can't do that. There are laws about self-incrimination, disturbing the peace. Small-headed bald people know this.
     And a guy can get used to this kind of thing. I did. Got used to it, over the years: I learned how to dodge and step, point and block, fake-out, and when push comes to shove, pretend I have fleas.
     Now that I'm all set I find that the Fates are not happy with bestowing the simple small, balding head on some of us. They wait a while, about forty years, and then they trade in your nice neat nose for a door-knocker, the thing just starts growing - no matter how much you refrain from sticking fingers and other objects up there, no matter when you quit pulling on the thing out of anger at the world, no matter how gently you blow your sneezer - it become distinct, then pendulous,and then one day it hangs a sign on itself with a notice of vacancy - room to let.
     The eyes then, at the failure of the nose, begin to weaken, falter, sag and give up while the brow above gets heavy and thick, the hair upon it becomes vegetative over the new offense. The cheeks then loose all interest in maintaining their healthy elasticity, and the mouth just gives up all together and the whole head pushes up toward the ears for advice, and the ears respond only by growing larger, flap-like, and redden with embarrassment.
     This then is the plight of the small headed, balding, middle aged man. It may be pretty funny, but it is not pretty. When you next feel like you are worried, and then angry, and for no reason at all want to punch a harmless looking fellow in the nose - think of this.
     Thank you.

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