“I’m sure your viewers are impressed. I’d be more impressed if it stayed on your side.”
“Not now. I’m live.”
“Oh my God. It’s hair.”
Harold leaned in. “Eight hundred dollars. I paid less for my first car.”
“Did it come with a steering wheel?”
“Eventually.”
I laughed. It helped, for a while.
But an hour later, I was ready to launch myself into orbit from sheer rage.
“Oh my
God. It’s hair.”
“Seriously, why are you so obsessed with my hair?”
“I’m not obsessed. I’m simply sitting behind it.”
“You’re jealous. When was the last time you had hair like this? Fifty years ago?”
My hair is short and silver now, and I don’t miss the old kind.
I raised three children and buried a husband, and I’m not apologizing for a single year.
“Actually, I had rather lovely hair during the Reagan administration.”