My handsome husband has great hair. His thick, dark hair is often the topic of conversation.
On more than one occasion, I’ve heard my sister-in-law say, “John got the good hair.” (She refers to the fact that at age fifty-five he has very little gray.)
One of our best friends, also named John, is convinced that my John uses Just For Men. When the Johns are together, their conversation always revolves back to his hair in an attempt to finagle some sort of accidental confession. Of course, since he doesn’t dye, these traps haven’t worked even after a bottle of red wine truth serum.
The last time my husband had a physical (a few years ago)—a fancy, all-day, spa-like ‘executive’ physical through his employer—the results were mailed home in an impressively bound book as large as a commercial office building appraisal report.
The introduction paragraph began with…
John Boerner, a 50-something-year-old male, was alert, cheerful, overweight, and with a full head of hair.
To which I replied, “You Are NOT Cheerful.”
But I’ll give him the full head of hair.