This is not about me.
This is about something that has gotten out of hand.
When I decided to put my savage mop to good use
I didn't see the road down which it would lead
and have had trouble seeing many roads since,
as my hair keeps falling in my face,
but that's not the source of my troubles.
No, it's the attention, for once my curls
reached a magical length, they developed
some sort of mane attraction, that pulled
people in. I first noticed at the pharmacy,
the technician, her dark gaze fixed on my locks
said simply, "I like it." But then at the bank
they stared at my hair and asked,
"Are you an actor? You should be."
And down the street I went,
to the dollar store where the cashier insisted
I give her hair care tips. Then came the petting,
in bars, in line at the grocery store,
while waiting for the elevator. I learned
how pregnant women feel when you try
to touch their bellies uninvited.
I was molested, cornered, violated.
Now, when in conversation, people look not into my eyes
but further up, as if I had cleavage on my head.
I'm sure they'll stop talking to me altogether,
preferring my hair's company to mine,
buying it drinks, taking it to ball games,
bringing it flowers. My hair will drag me out
on the town, like the pretty girl's so-so friend
with all the popular crowd hanging out, talking to it
while I sit below, neglected. I wonder how it will be
when my hair gets its first movie deal,
goes on the talk show circuit, writes its autobiography
Life on Top. It's already eying Katy Holmes,
pondering how it will tell her to drop that loser
and get herself a companion with better body.
I'm sure it will end badly when my hair develops a cocaine habit
and a desire to pick up transvestite hookers.
It will wind up on the interstate, naked, unwashed
wielding a .45 and shouting at passing cars,
"I am the greatest! I'm the best thing to happen to this town!
and then the police will come, and if they're kind
they will pluck it out, strand by strand
and lock it away. Leaving me alone with my smooth,
clean pate to start anew,
hairless, but independent.
Ack! I need to mail mine off! I have two bags of hair that are waiting to be sent to Locks of Love from cuts past, and I never get around to it! I need to put it on the to-do list for Tuesday.
And, dear lord, do I know the feeling. I guess you haven't been around long enough to remember these days... *wayne's world wiggly flashback fingers, present scene wiggle/fade out*
I thought about printing up a Q&A of the top questions: How long did it take you to grow your hair out? How long does it take to wash it? Have you ever cut it? Don't you sit on it? Does it give you headaches? Is it really heavy? (followed by molestation) How long does it take to dry? What kind of shampoo do you use? Doesn't it get on your nerves? How do you go to the bathroom? Have you ever seen Crystal Gale? My so-and-so had real long hair, but she cut it...
I finally cut it more because they were driving me crazy every time I went into public than any other reason. I was tired of being a freak show.