I’ve decided to leave my hair to Science. My only dilemma is whether to include my head or not.
Did you say, why Susannah, are you that desperate to be remembered?
You see, my hair grows north and thick, like a mushroom, causing me to expand from the neck up in a not so attractive manner, which is why my hairdresser is on retainer.
I’ll go to bed looking relatively normal, just to get up as though I had an electrical short during the night, leading me straight to the sink to douse my head in water.
Then I smother it with leave-on conditioner so lacquered down I could easily be part of a barbershop quartet, which of course, would cut down on all those wash and sets if one would have me, but you know how men are.
I can’t quite figure out, gene wise, who I’ve inherited this mangy mane from. My mother had straight black hair, like Cher, so it couldn’t be from her, and my dad’s family all had curly hair in the shape of corkscrews, which is apt since they were all alcoholic.
Maybe it’s just nature playing one of her silly pranks, growing my tresses like topiary, I really can’t say, but will write to the Smithsonian, perhaps to the Air and Space Museum, that we could maybe change to Hair and Space, to see if they’d be interested. How cool to be near the Wright Brothers first airplane, and John Glenn’s Pressure suit that let’s hope was deodorized.
Maybe I’ll even toss in my brain, you know, as an added bonus.