Cue Ball

OK, I did it. I couldn't stand the "stubble feel. So now, I am sporting a fine razor rash over most of the left side of my head. On the up side, I can wear my beret without worrying about it mussing up my hair. And while I am on the subject of hair, let me tell you why my recent experience argues against the existence of a kind and loving supreme being.

You see, in a world created and watched over my such a kind and loving consciousness, when your hair started falling out due to treatments like chemo, the first stuff to go would be those black tree trunks growing out of the tops of your ears. Next would be those hairs you find when you look in the mirror at some fancy reception. You know the ones. The ones that look like the hawsers off the Queen Mary that magically appeared hanging out of your nose. And all that time, you thought she was fascinated with what you were saying.

Next would be the melting of those unwanted love handles as your molested constitution shifted body mass around, producing those sculpted washboard bellies that stare at you out of the Sunday papers advertising underwear.

Then there is the issue of snow in April when I took my snow tires off on an eighty degree day in March. Somebody's just fucking with me.