Breaking Eggs

I walked home from 51st St. Wednesday evening. The story should have started "I walked home from 53rd St.", but I walked two blocks in the wrong direction. I tend to wander off when lost in thought. When leaving the subway station I was thinking about how my recent barbers have been spending less and less time on the top of my head. I think I counted three snips the last time I was in the chair. While Antarctica can blame greenhouse gases for its missing ozone, I am still thinking about the cause of my missing mop top. I think my hairloss can be traced back my youth when my father used to pretend to break an egg over my head by lightly tapping my head with his knuckles and slowly opening his fist. The broken egg trick always made me laugh. It was a genuine laugh, too. Not the kind of empty, cheap laugh that Gilligan's Island or The Brady Bunch evoked. More like the full, rich laugh from an Addams Family episode. Although my hairloss will probably disqualify me from a future presidential run, I guess getting eggs broken on my head was worth it. It's one of those memories that I hold on to- one that makes me relax then smile. One that may postpone more hairloss.