Hairy Subject

I cut my hair the other day, using a $10 pair of clippers I purchased at Walgreens. I inadvertently used one of the shorter clipper attachments--the 1/4-nanometer attachment, to be specific. By the time I realized how short I was going, I had carved a decidedly unfortunate groove in my cracker afro. What I grumbled to myself immediately afterward began with a letter that falls somewhere between e and g.

When I finished cutting my hair and began cleaning up the 27 pounds of clippings--the floor looked like Sasquatch has just shaved his back in my garage--I noticed that the bulk of them were tinted gray. Call me crazy, but I might be the only person in the world who, upon seeing an omen of his own aging, enthusiastically says, "cool!" I just don't feel the need to wash that gray right out of my hair.

Because life is pretty cool, and my gray hair reminds me that I'm living it, that I'm in the game. It gets better as I get older, so if this is what aging is all about, sign me up.

Just please don't stare at my nanohair. It's rude.