Well, Christmas again has come and gone, with Santa having failed to give me my top request. I got up Christmas morning, bowed toward the mirror, and low and behold, still no hair. Slowly but surely, I am realizing my chance to be the next James Bond is slipping away.
But, the same cannot be said for my little 5-year-old T-Rex, monster truck, Nerf machine-gun obsessed tornado of a little boy and the precious, princess worshiping, paint anything that is still, and some that aren't, 6-year-old little girl. We lay together in bed on Christmas Eve night discussing the much anticipated arrival of Santa Claus. The little angel fretted she'd forgot to include roller skates on her Santa list. The little tornado responded, "Don't worry, the Easter bunny brings gifts too, right?"
So, if you didn't get what you wanted, wait just a little longer and maybe the Easter bunny will bring tidings of great joy. Who knows, I might have a basket full of Hair Club for Men.
In reality, my looks are not a high priority to me, which I am sure has solicited a uniform chorus from all readers of, "To put it politely, that goes without saying." Women, on the other hand, according to numerous studies, are obsessed with their looks and body image. According to many so-called experts, this causes great stress, anxiety and poor self image.
I think I know why the other half stresses so much. Christmas Eve, for some reason, while at my parent's house, I paused to look in the mirror of the master bathroom. Stuck on the big wall mirror was another smaller mirror which greatly magnifies your image. I suppose this contraption is used to assist in putting on makeup, lipstick and to generally apprise one's facial status. My God, every blemish, bump, wrinkle, hair or lack thereof, stood out like somebody wearing a bright yellow outfit at a funeral. I quickly backed away and, for a moment, decided my best course of action would be to place a paper bag over my head for the remainder of my lifetime. No wonder women are stressed out.
I am beginning to understand why women in the Middle East wear burkas.
After spending 30 minutes to an hour putting on makeup, magnified 100 times, I'm surprised any women leave the house at all. Further complicating the matter, women stand in front of three- and four-sided mirrors checking out every angle of their body. I am proud to say that, to my knowledge, I have never once checked out my rear-end in a mirror. My longest visit with a mirror involves shaving and quickly splashing my face with water, glancing to make sure shaving cream is still not on my face even though on more than one occasion I have noticed some behind my ear hours later.
Poor women. They look at every angle in a mirror to make certain their pants fit right, the skirt's not too short or their hair is not flipped the wrong way. I prefer to follow the philosophy of my father who says, "It is not important whether or not you are good looking. It only matters if you think you are good looking." By refusing to look in the mirror, I can continue this charade for a little longer. Besides, Fathead, my dog, also follows my father's philosophy in that I'm quite certain Fathead thinks he is good looking.
So, next year I'm asking Santa not for hair, but please remove all the mirrors. The women will be stress-free, and I'll still be good looking.
Contact columnist T. Gamble at firstname.lastname@example.org.