My kids took one look at my head and screamed , or laughed ; you couldn't tell.
Being two years apart, they are both infested with teenage behaviour, simultaneously , and often , you cannot distinguish a smirk from grimace , a shout of laughter from a scream of disapproval, and a yes from a no. I chose to play it safe , and pretended to be offended, firmly seating myself in the parents' chair.
On the weekend , my younger one , having tired of playing inane games called "Temple Run " ( ever heard of a temple running, so weird!)and "angry granny", ventured , as if she had put a great deal of thought to it;"You could grow a mohawk, you know !"
I had to google it up. It is an outlandish hairstyle adopted by the teens of today to resemble red-Indians of yesterday, or Roman Gladiators.
Elder one , squinting in the sun, looked up from her "One direction "CD, added -"Yes, with pink tints."Then the two looked at each other , and burst into guffaws.
This was too much. My hairless skull was being the butt of jokes . I had to express my disapproval.
I moved away, hurt.
My friend rings up from across seven seas and addresses me as ,"Hello! skinhead !"
My spouse wants quick results. An assortments of lotions and potions have started accumulating on the usually deserted dressing table.Whenever he finds time,he mixes up various aromatic oils and rubs it on my scant scalp.So, for the rest of the day, I walk around with an odoriferous reminder of espousal love,on my head.
My sister, being the quintessential fish-loving bong, is of the opinion that eating this and drinking that will help me regain my lost hair and honour, in that order. The dietary supplements are working , but on parts of my body other than my scalp. As a result, I may end up being a well-fed , hirsute Amazonian, minus the hair on the head.
The other day we watched a program on TV featuring that famous head-butter,"Zinidane Zidane", and I thought being bald was not so bad after all . All the famous people I loved and admired were bald , beginning with G for Gandhiji and ending with G for Gorbachev.
My daughter was the one to puncture my balloon of happiness,"But ma , they were all men !"
Being two years apart, they are both infested with teenage behaviour, simultaneously , and often , you cannot distinguish a smirk from grimace , a shout of laughter from a scream of disapproval, and a yes from a no. I chose to play it safe , and pretended to be offended, firmly seating myself in the parents' chair.
On the weekend , my younger one , having tired of playing inane games called "Temple Run " ( ever heard of a temple running, so weird!)and "angry granny", ventured , as if she had put a great deal of thought to it;"You could grow a mohawk, you know !"
I had to google it up. It is an outlandish hairstyle adopted by the teens of today to resemble red-Indians of yesterday, or Roman Gladiators.
Elder one , squinting in the sun, looked up from her "One direction "CD, added -"Yes, with pink tints."Then the two looked at each other , and burst into guffaws.
This was too much. My hairless skull was being the butt of jokes . I had to express my disapproval.
I moved away, hurt.
My friend rings up from across seven seas and addresses me as ,"Hello! skinhead !"
My spouse wants quick results. An assortments of lotions and potions have started accumulating on the usually deserted dressing table.Whenever he finds time,he mixes up various aromatic oils and rubs it on my scant scalp.So, for the rest of the day, I walk around with an odoriferous reminder of espousal love,on my head.
My sister, being the quintessential fish-loving bong, is of the opinion that eating this and drinking that will help me regain my lost hair and honour, in that order. The dietary supplements are working , but on parts of my body other than my scalp. As a result, I may end up being a well-fed , hirsute Amazonian, minus the hair on the head.
The other day we watched a program on TV featuring that famous head-butter,"Zinidane Zidane", and I thought being bald was not so bad after all . All the famous people I loved and admired were bald , beginning with G for Gandhiji and ending with G for Gorbachev.
My daughter was the one to puncture my balloon of happiness,"But ma , they were all men !"
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