Don't Step On My Damn Fedora!

Lame Excuses

I like my hat more than my hair these days. I guess that’s mostly a sign of age, though it could be just a new style of being. Might as well “be”, though, since my hat hides my hair and I wear one hat or another nearly all the time, indoors or outdoors. It’s fucking weird, as we used to say—or was that just me? I never learned to stop cussing, though all my other vices have deserted me. I am so "clean" that it's disgusting, if you can overlook the vile and violent language. I suppose some of you may prefer whiskey, beer, and tobacco, but I always resented the money that had to spent on that. But, for that matter these days, I resent the money for movies, books, and eating at restaurants, so I watch free TV, use the local library, and make lame excuses everywhere I go. Anyway, my hair is almost short, compared to former years; I cut it myself, and that's the reason that I don't wear it even shorter. If I could find a tool that would let me cut it short, but not a "flat top" or whatever it was that I used to wear as a kid (and wasted good money to pay barbers for such a bunch of nothing!). Maybe I could find a way to cut it as short as the Godfather's in the third movie installment of that endless saga. It seems to me, at least, that if I try to cut my hair shorter than I've been doing, I might gouge myself or at least do a bad job. So, for the moment, I'm stuck. If I screw around and delay it long enough, my naturally receding hairline will take over and finish me off. I won't have to think about it then, I guess.