A Series of Ludicrously Bad Hair Days, Day 3; see Day 2
[Poetry mashed with a short story]
Rebecca, who is known in their circle as Thin Hair, and Harry, who we know is False Hairy, find a coffee shop near the place of group therapy. They eye each other hungrily, as they feel the heat emanate from their respective chemistries.
“False Hairy, I hope you won’t think me forward, but as an older woman, I tend to get straight to the point. You make my heart beat as I gaze at your face so sweet.”
“Thank you for your frankness, for life is too short. I am glad to hear you don’t fear to cavort with someone who lacks finesse. Although I lost my hair so young in my prime, I pass myself at times as a much older man. I would take off my toupee and let my head shine in full display.”
“Ah, your brow is too smooth and your lips still full. You look more a calf than a bull.”
“Heed me, Thin Hair, when I say that I charge like a bull, and have quite the skill. I’m no run-of-the-mill.”
“Ah, you sound quite versatile. Shall I be wary of your charm and guile?”
“I would say the same of you, dear Thin Hair, for I see every day in group you wear a different wig. I don’t know your real hair color. I often wonder what true shade lies under.”
“Let’s go elsewhere and reveal our genuine selves. You can run your hands through my thin strands. I risk you being repelled, but for you I’m willing to bare myself. I see more than a glimpse of your naked scalp. My heart continues to palp—“
A waitress dashes by their table carrying a flat tray full of forks that stick out over the shallow platter, precariously close to Rebecca’s hairy matter. The rear weave of her wig sticks out like twigs, catching some tines that brush by it. The prongs are set free soon after turning the wig 180 degrees forward. Simultaneously, the waitress rushes back to the kitchen, as Rebecca’s vision is completely covered, seeing only black.
Seconds later, False Hairy’s visage is back in her line of vision, his face a picture of concern. “I hope I didn’t give you fright by setting your wig aright.”
Rebecca tries to regain her composure and resets the temperature back to pleasure. She flares her nostrils and declares again her mature passion.
Harry seals the deal with his lips on hers. “Let’s not tarry any longer for I am ready to burst. Let’s blow this place so you can sit on my face.”