So. Let’s talk about hair. You know, that what’s growing out of your head? Cause I am seeing a LOT of it these days.
For the coming few weeks, until I leave for Sweden, I’ll be staying at my girlfriends’ place, which has a number of consequences. One of them is I have had to leave my cat behind, and while in itself that’s a tad depressing (for me, at least, I am convinced the cat himself couldn’t care less), it does have a significant advantage : I won’t be constantly covered in cat hair any more. Because however much I brush (both the cat and my clothes), or wash (only talking clothes here), or vacuum clean, the hair ALWAYS finds a way to stick – which is pointed out to me on practically every occasion I see my mother. She also has a cat, but while hers is grey and leaves only little, barely visible hairs behind, my cat is a big (6 kg) (yes, 6) reddish Garfield type of cat, and his orange hairs stand out like a sore thumb. But, so I thought (o, how naive) : no more Simba, no more hair. Which is correct. In a way. Cause I am no longer covered by small, orange hairs, instead I am covered in long, blond hairs derived from… my girlfriend indeed. She loses more hair than my cat and honestly – I’m almost surprised she has actually any hair left! It is on the floor, on my clothes, in the bed and it even comes out of the washing machine in tiny knots, all shiny as if saying : here I am again, thought you’d get rid of me easily, didn’t you?
And thus I have learned why it is that gentlemen prefer blondes… but rather marry brunettes.