My wife disappointed me recently. I really don’t like the role reversal. I remember it like it was just this past weekend, which it was.
My wife has a big head of hair. I’m not talking about a big head with hair on top like these two.
No, I’m talking about a normal size head with a lot of hair like this.
Only more. My wife is follicly-gifted on her normal size head. On the other hand, I am afflicted with what is commonly known as the Stephen Miller Syndrome, characterized by a comically large head and not enough hair.
Fortunately, I was not afflicted with other symptoms of the syndrome like the dead eyes, lack of empathy, dulled senses and slow wit of the syndrome’s namesake and Trump adviser. But I don’t have enough hair. I don’t think I even have enough on the back and sides for a proper transplant. Where I do have hair left on my head, I just have thin hair.
I was giving my wife’s hair its nightly brushing of 100 strokes over the weekend as I am wont to do when I asked her a question. I know hair can’t be successfully transplanted between different people, but I asked her if it could, would she donate some to me. Nope. I suggested that nobody would notice any hair loss from her head, and I would make excellent use of her hair. Nope. I suggested some hair from the nape of her neck that never really stays with the rest of her hair when she puts it up. Nope. I started to sense a pattern. Nobody could love their hair that much, can they?
Oh right, I forgot about Beyonce.
I’m going to drop this issue I have with my wife because it is nonsensically theoretical, or so my wife believes. I don’t need my wife’s luxurious hair. I have options.