or, One Last Frantic Dialogue With My Hair Before We Parted Ways
—
Why, hello Nathan.
Afternoon, hair.
Do you mind telling me why there are a pair of scissors hovering in rather frightening proximity?
Ah, it has come to this, has it?
Come to what?
Well, we’re very soon to go our separate paths. Pursue different fates, if you will.
And when, pray tell, were you going to inform me of such?
I have been fundraising for your departure for at least a week now, you know.
This is the first I’ve heard of it. I’m terribly busy these days.
Just what, precisely, does a mop of hair perform to alleviate itself of spare time?
Oh, nothing really important. Preventing your ears from dropping off due to frostbite, sparing you of dangerous skin cancers, that sort of thing.
That’s wonderful–no, really, it is–but I’m sure I’ll survive our severance.
Ha! Without me, you aren’t you. Once I’m gone you’ll be forced to forge some new, lesser identity, to strike out as a different person with a vital piece missing. There’ll be a vast gulf where great waters once surged.
A vast gulf where… waters… Hold on. Why am I debating with my hair? Is this a daydream?
If only! If only it was! I can hardly bear this betrayal. To think that you would entertain the thought–
It’s far too late for such talk; she’s ready to cut now. I’ll miss you, a little.
No! Make her stop! Oh, hair number forty seven thousand and three, you were my favourite piece of me! Lo! Not another snip! Ah! Six thousand three hundred and fifty nine, you survived seventeen low-hanging branches and a vicious car door for this–the clippers, the clippers! My soul, my being, delivered to the floor like descent unto Hades! I’ll be back, mark my words; back, and long enough to strangle you, just wait–
