Going undercover


mad hat‘Tis a sad thing, alas, to be faced with one’s own mortality.  It brings with it many memories, such as life’s experience and loves shared, but it also visits upon us such ravages as only age can.  It is with heavy heart and (appropriately) drooped head that I must face my own personal doom.

Once there was a time when I had such thick hair it would literally obscure the floor beneath the barber’s chair as he cut away at the thick, curly locks.  Combs would break their teeth on that thick mass.  Small birds might land and never be seen again.  My barber needed to ice down his shoulder after finishing with me.  Indeed, it is even possible seasons might change before I could rise from the chair.

Now, we say goodbye to each other almost before saying hello.

But, this is not a wailing for lost hair.  I am at peace with the change.  More, I am relieved.  Look at all the suffering that is saved for my lack of hair…winged creatures fear not to approach me, my barber’s medical bills have declined dramatically and he needs no longer to hire additional sweepers for the shop.  It’s all good, but for one problem.  Nature has eroded my natural protections!

Yesterday, during my aborted birthday lunch for my friend’s daughter (rescheduled for Saturday, so weep not), I sat in the middle of the park area on a bench and enjoyed the cloudless sky and bright Florida sun.   Like most sane humans (I exclude those shirtless people who show up at winter football games), I don’t spend as much time outside during the colder months, but for being wrapped up like the Michelin Man.  So my golden skin lightens and pales and my itch for my beloved sun grows increasingly hard to ignore.

I leapt at the chance to spend some time soaking up the rays of life-giving warmth and arrived a half-hour early.  Upon returning home, I enjoyed the new color gained on my face; there is nothing so healthy-looking as sun-drenched cheeks (as opposed to sun-burned).  Unfortunately, my cheeks weren’t the problem, nor, as it turns out, were they the main recipient of the (what I beleived to be) short time in the sun.

My thinned hair atop my head no longer provides me any protection from the sun.  When one thinks of a redhead, this was not the image that should be conjured.  Oh, the humanity!

It is clear that my hatless days are behind me, now.  I suppose that means when I go to the festivals or the outdoor concerts, I now must not only bring, but actually wear a hat.  How tiresome.  Sure, I use one for tennis or fishing, but those are hours-long events.  Sitting on a park bench for less than an hour?  Horrid idea to have to wear a hat!

I would perhaps give some thought to the hat shown in the blog (at least it has some personality), but a new friend I made said she is keeping it, which I find quite perplexing, seeing as she has a fulsome head of hair.  I suppose I must live with a mundane baseball cap as my companion.

It seems deceitful to wear a hat in public.  I have plenty of hair but for the top of my head, which means the cap will give the illusion of a full head of hair.  No doubt people will presume me for 10 or 20 years younger than I am (still 10 or 20 years older than my maturity).

I would feel terrible if some young woman mistakenly takes great interest in my (soon) golden-hued face only to be shocked by some monumental gender gap beyond comprehension.  Though, the solution would seem simple enough.  I need merely tip my cap.

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