The Key For Me

My hair continues to gain lady admirers, while my mustache remains tolerated at best and at worst a magnet for compliments from guys who I don't imagine I'd like if I got to know them. Let's focus on the hair. I've gone over this ground before, but I do not tire of it. My hair moves people, and women particularly. Many wish to touch it, and generally they are considerate enough to ask first. Perhaps they are used to unwanted touching themselves.

I tend to consent. I let the ladies touch my hair, though I caution them that they might get lost in there. I also usually am agreeable to having my picture taken, although I wonder sometimes just in what spirit the desire for a picture may be. I would like for it to be real affection or admiration, but I can well imagine how it could be a matter of irony or ridicule. Who knows what caption they might choose to put with a picture of me?

Mostly I hate it when people offer their bright ideas for what I might do with my hair. I suggest in turn that they might get their own curly, floppy blond hair as I did. I reserve that reaction for men and unappealing ladies, though. The attractive, available lady tends to have considerably better luck in swaying me towards braids, straightening techniques, dye jobs and even corn rows, although I have not given in on any except for the first.

I'm hoping that all of this attention is but the beginning. I figure that if the handful of women who want pictures and a chance to cop a feel may develop into a steady flow of many. Should that happen, there are bound to be a few here and there that are of real interest to me all around. Out of that select number, there may be one or two with whom I pursue relationships. One or the other of those could possibly be the one, and I won't be sorry if it was the hair that was the key. I just had better hurry while it's in its prime.