Mr. Cellophane

So it's done. I cut my hair. People ask me why, and now I'm not sure. It just wasn't behaving. It's getting too thin on top, but then it's still think and poofy on the sides. My wife said it looked like a bad perm. Not like it was in college, a thick all over mane I could comfortably hide behind while making my self unique at the same time. The internal struggle of being an introverted extrovert, or an extroverted introvert. Something like that. At any rate, it's gone now. My mother is thrilled. I feel, well, kind of nondescript.

I put on a favorite jacket today because it's getting kind of chilly. It's a vintage WWII Esienhower jacket. My wife made me change. Apparently, I'm not twenty anymore and that makes dressing in an interesting jacket inappropriate. My mom, as I said, is glad the hair is gone, because she says that I don't look like someone hanging onto my youth anymore. So, if I'm understanding correctly, aging means that you need to blend in so completely as to become invisible. Fly that biege flag high.

Almost seems Darwinian theory has so saturated our thinking, that they worry I'll draw predatory attention to myself being so different from the herd, and I can't run to escape like I used to. Leave that to the stronger and more agile pubescent bucks.

I guess my resolve doesn't hold much these days against peer pressure, since I've succumb. People talk about peer pressure being so oppressive when you're in high school and the like. At almost 40, it's a crushing force. Or maybe I'm just get too tired to swim upstream anymore.

So if you hear a small squeak of a whisper late at night, don't worry. It's just me disappearing.