I was leaving Wal-Mart (which I've heard will become the first Super Wal-Mart in San Diego County this Wednesday) yesterday, walking out to my car, and there was a man headed toward the entrance. What caught my eye was his hair. Sorry (very sorry), but I don't have a picture, because that would have been rude.
He had male-pattern baldness, the kind that makes a man's hair recede until his forehead stretches all the way across the top of his head and starts down the back, leaving a fringe of hair around the back and sides like an ancient Olympian's laurel wreath.
OK, but that's not the whole picture.
The sides were pretty thick with nicely groomed, silvered-brown hair, and he had a pony tail in back that fell to the lower edge of his shoulder blades. Like maybe he was compensating...
OK, but that's not the whole picture.
He had a comb-over. A serious one, about four inches wide, across the top of his head that left a large semi-circle of baldness showing behind it. And the comb-over was plastered down with what must have been some industrial-strength axle grease or maybe some hard-core lacquer that would require a hammer and chisel to make it budge, because it was darker than the rest of his hair the way wetness or greasiness will make it.
Fortunately I was a distance away when I spotted him, because I stared. And thought about my camera.
He can't possibly believe he looks good that way, can he?
It just seems as though there must come a time in life when a person (and I'm including myself in this lesson too) has to face the fact that his or her looks are not quite the ideal. The struggle to hang onto that bare thread of former glory isn't worth the grotesque mockery a person can make of himself in the process.
10 comments:
I like this post.
Wouldn't you love to get inside this man's head and see what he sees in the mirror?
I'd love a glimpse of myself through the eyes of my co-workers.
I'm reminded of the old people at my church when I was little... So many bald heads... So many gray and white heads. It's different today.
My favorite... The woman of very plain and modest physical attributes, who upon displaying her personality and love for the Lord, becomes beautiful.
Oh my goodness I haven't chuckled that hard in some time. Your descriptive report was so intricate I was able to picture every strand of hair and the pony-tail as well.
What an awesome post! Bravo Skye, bravo!
And I too, have come to see the real me in the mirror and realise I can't stop time.
I guess that's why I had to compensate with the Corvette.
Janice,
I guess that's why I had to compensate with the Corvette.
Priceless!
Well Skye, let's be honest here.
Why do you only see the men you described and older women (I'm only 43, so I don't really fit in that group) such as myself driving those cars? To recapture the younger person we so want to see in the "rose-colored" mirror.
I can no longer turn heads with the looks and figure I had 20 years ago, but when I drive by construction workers and traffic cops, they look. It's OK that it's the car they're looking at and not me.
I guess I'm just being honest.
Janice,
We see "older" people driving those cars, because they're the ones who can afford it. Youths are lucky if they can drive a used Pinto.
Enjoy every minute you get to spend in your car!
You're right, Skye. Thanks, I don't feel so bad now.....
Skye: Facing one's age and mortality gets harder and harder the older we get. Well, for me it is anyway. Turning 50-something in a couple of weeks is an additional challenge. If we could all stop time at some point in our lives, mine would have to be when I was 28-29. Anyone else have favorite years like that?
For me, i'd say 35.
I know I just told you this but HILARIOUS POST!!!!!!!!! Again...this is why we shouldn't shop together!
Post a Comment