Your Shaving Grace...

Ever had someone Brilliant pay you a compliment, but you didn't know exactly what it meant?

"...you rock in your Clooney Caesar."

Something to do with hair me thinks.

My fading jet black hair which use to be halfway down my back (and at one time, longer than Rita Coolidge - gotta find that picture from my daughter Megan) makes my head cook in the summertime and pant like my two black furred dogs. A clean haircut (or wash) is impressive when one is looking for a real job.

Whenever guys get around to sporting their new haircut, we (I) always talk smack (with sincerity):

"Did you get a haircut or just wash it?"

"Did you lose a bet?"

Which reminds me of this story:

"The first time I saw my father without his hair on, I didn't recognize him. I thought he was a burglar or a mental asylum escapee. I was about 4-years-old and I ran into my parents' bedroom after I awakened from a nightmare, because that's what you seem to instinctively do at that age. I startled them and they both jumped up."

Read Part One and two