Friday, August 15, 2003
Why, oh why?!
I was heading back to work today, ending my lunch hour with a nice Coffee Bean decaf cafe mocha with soymilk when I saw him. Sitting at an outside table in front of Coffee Bean, not a care in the world, acting as if he had no idea what he inspired in others.
A man with a toupee.
I refrained from running up to him, snatching the foul thing from his head, dashing it to the ground and stomping on it as I screamed, “You’re not fooling anyone! You’d look good if you just accepted nature!”
Because that would just be rude. E-hem.
Listen, I happen to like a nicely groomed head of hair on a man. If it’s dark, even better. (G-d, how I love dark hair!) But if a man’s hairline is starting to migrate north, I would so much prefer it if he let nature do its thing. Accept it and move on. I find that so much more attractive than trying to convince people that the toupee (or the comb-over *shudder*) is his hair’s natural look. (My father does the comb-over. You know Jack Nicholson in About Schmidt? Spitting image of my father. Really.) Or, if he prefers, just shave it all off.
Let me put it this way. On one hand you have Patrick Stewart. On the other hand you’ve got Walter Koenig. If there was some bizarre cataclysmic event that caused both of them to come to me, proclaiming their undying love for me, and I wasn’t involved or interested in someone else, who do you think I’d go for? It wouldn’t be the one with the rodent on his head, I tell ya that.
(Okay, so Patrick Stewart also has that whole charisma/talent/booming English accented voice thing going on. But I’m telling you, the shag rug residing on Koenig’s pate doesn’t help matters. I mean, I’ve seen the thing in person. It’s no ShatnerTurbo2000.)
So, gentlemen, I beg of you, on the behalf of all women (and gay men) with taste. Eschew the toupee. If you have one, please release it into the wild, where it can lead a happy life as near-sighted, smell-challenged wildlife attempt to mate with it. Your toupee, and your loved ones, will thank you.
A man with a toupee.
I refrained from running up to him, snatching the foul thing from his head, dashing it to the ground and stomping on it as I screamed, “You’re not fooling anyone! You’d look good if you just accepted nature!”
Because that would just be rude. E-hem.
Listen, I happen to like a nicely groomed head of hair on a man. If it’s dark, even better. (G-d, how I love dark hair!) But if a man’s hairline is starting to migrate north, I would so much prefer it if he let nature do its thing. Accept it and move on. I find that so much more attractive than trying to convince people that the toupee (or the comb-over *shudder*) is his hair’s natural look. (My father does the comb-over. You know Jack Nicholson in About Schmidt? Spitting image of my father. Really.) Or, if he prefers, just shave it all off.
Let me put it this way. On one hand you have Patrick Stewart. On the other hand you’ve got Walter Koenig. If there was some bizarre cataclysmic event that caused both of them to come to me, proclaiming their undying love for me, and I wasn’t involved or interested in someone else, who do you think I’d go for? It wouldn’t be the one with the rodent on his head, I tell ya that.
(Okay, so Patrick Stewart also has that whole charisma/talent/booming English accented voice thing going on. But I’m telling you, the shag rug residing on Koenig’s pate doesn’t help matters. I mean, I’ve seen the thing in person. It’s no ShatnerTurbo2000.)
So, gentlemen, I beg of you, on the behalf of all women (and gay men) with taste. Eschew the toupee. If you have one, please release it into the wild, where it can lead a happy life as near-sighted, smell-challenged wildlife attempt to mate with it. Your toupee, and your loved ones, will thank you.
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