Hair.

If it’s one thing I pride myself on, it’s my hair. It’s huge, thick, and no matter what I do, it’s got the perfect amount of shine. Yeah, it’s a shallow thing to feel superior about, but dammit, I’m lucky to have it. The men in my family either lost it by their late twenties or are taking pills and using the most powerful anti-balding shampoos known to man to keep it. Nearly every time my family gets together, my cousin will look at me with mild envy, first at the three inches in height I have on him, then at my thick blond widow’s peak. Hair loss? Bah!
However, ever since the discovery of hair gel (a recent find, only four years back) I’ve strived for a kind of freeform follicle architecture perfected by my Doctor, David Tennant. Sure, his is brown, but I’ve got thickness.
Because of this fondness for what is essentially head glue, I’ve begun scientific experiments at The Pit where I am currently employed. Take bugs, brightly colored depending on how deadly their poison is. I’ve noticed a certain degree of trepidation towards people with especially freaky hair, a friend of mine going so far as to wear a wig in her exact natural color, but with huge dreadlocks instead of her usual bangs and slight curls. People take pause, wondering if they should’ve found a different supervisor to complain to. Like a man in a jungle trying to remember what that damn rhyme is about coral snakes, an aging woman with rough eye shadow and a bad perm job is something to approach slowly, or possibly back away from, hands in the air, no sudden movements.
At the best of times, I have what my girlfriend calls a “Clark Kent” haircut, like a comb over without the baldness. On days like that, I get approached by all sorts of folk, asking me questions about televisions and remotes and cameras and on occasion, compost. But yesterday I started it out small, unthreatening, gelled but in no way threatening. By the end of the day, I had haphazardly sculpted a do of colossal and frightening proportions, pointing all directions (although if I wasn’t attentive, I’m pretty sure it would calm down to pointing magnetic North), daring people to approach.
Sadly, my findings are thus inconclusive, as giant scary hair seemed only to attract more people. Maybe freaky hair is a sign of knowledge in an electronics department. Maybe people didn’t care. Maybe the people at The Pit are Just Damned Weird. More experiments are in order.
Share your hair stories in the comments! I’m striving for reader interactivity here, even if there are only three of you.