Follicle Follies

“Did you know,” Mom blurted out as I walked past her on my way to the garage with a basket of dirty laundry, “when you age you lose your hair?”

“I don’t know that it’s just an age thing,” I said, pausing in the doorway to the Arizona Room. I turned around and looked at her. “Some people start to go bald in their twenties and thirties.”

“No, no, not bald. Hairless, like your hair stops growing.”

“Like an illness?” I asked. “Or like when you have to go through chemo therapy?”

“No, like when you get old. I noticed it when I was around 80.”

“Oh, well, yes, now that you mention it, I know I don’t have to shave as often and my hair’s gotten finer and it doesn’t seem as thick.”

“Well just you wait,” she said with a firm nod. “Before you know it you’ll be as hairless as a baby. You won’t have any….”

“Right,” I interrupted, abruptly cutting her off since I knew full and well where this conversation was headed. “Okay then, good talk Mom. Time to wash your sheets.” I shouted over my shoulder as I beat a hasty retreat into the garage.

“Yup, no more leg hair or arm pit hair or, you know, down there hair,” she called out to the empty room. “Just you wait!”

I nearly collided with Bill as he was coming in from the garage after charging and watering Barney, our golf cart. “What the heck was that all about?” he asked.

“Pubic hair,” I answered, rolling my eyes.

“Pubic…? You mean like, you know, umm, pubic? Why was your mother talking about pubic hair?” he stuttered. “Something must have made her think about it? Why would she be thinking about pubic hair? That’s just not right.”

“Because,” I muttered as I stuffed her linens into the washing machine, “according to her, she doesn’t have any and it’s apparently a geriatric perk that I have to look forward to.”



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