I escaped the confines of Hairific
For I never got a chance to tell my story.
I think I deserve my fair share of sympathy.
My hair is reedy and flat;
You could say a close cousin to a doormat.
Searching for the right mousse is always a quest.
So hard to look my best.
So – do I get a groaner?
A Series of Ludicrously Bad Hair Days, Day 5, see Day 4
[Poetry dominates short story]
A man known as Cowlick comes out of the one restroom and raises his voice, “There’s no fire. I, uh, I lit a match because . . . to freshen the air. . .” He scowls at the woman known as Singed, who stands close to the restroom, speaking directly to her. “I didn’t know we have a human smoke detector.”
A Series of Ludicrously Bad Hair Days, Day 4; see Day 3
[Poetic short story]
Her real name is Theresa and she hides what’s left of her hair under a turban. She sizes the group around her, trying to still her nerves. Maddie nods her head as a cue. She introduces herself, “Hello, my name is Shorned Locks. My desire to be festive got the better of me. It started three weeks ago and came to a head yesterday . . . which is why I’m here today.” She clears her throat for all to hear her sad monologue:
“On St. Patrick’s Day I dyed the ends of my hair green to be in the spirit of things. Alas, I botched it as the shade didn’t have the right sheen. Thus, I went to get my hair cut, which looked like a thatched hut. I had asked for layers to replace my blunt look. Instead, I resembled a beast from a wild nature book.
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.”
A Series of Ludicrously Bad Hair Days, Day 2; see Day 1
[Poetry crashing into a short story]
“My toupee has blown away!” False Hairy screams.
“Everyone, please don’t move.” Maddie turns off the ceiling fan and apologizes, “I’m sorry, False Hairy, for forgetting some of us have hair that may go astray while the fan moves like a schizo UFO.”