C. J. and I were eating lunch at the Shrimp Store today, when a man came in with friends and sat at the next table. He had the worst comb-over I've ever seen. A lock of hair, about one inch by twelve, had escaped and formed a graceful curve down the back of his head. He had a serious nose, and in profile he looked just like a teapot. He had violated the equator rule by parting his hair all the way around in the lower latitudes, and gravity had its way. It was hard to look away, like driving by a traffic accident. I really had the urge to stop by the table and stick it back on top with a damp finger. But I didn't.
We often see people that must not own a mirror. If you had a full length mirror by your door you would not go out with a roll of yourself hanging out between your shirt and your jeans, would you? How about the stretch knit stuff that hugs every pudge and crease? How about sandals with gnarly toes and long toenails hanging over the edge? Are these intentional but unfortunate choices? Do they stand in front of a mirror and get the look they want? I confess that I once wore pink fuzzy slippers around town for half a day before I noticed. And I'm reaching the age that such is expected. Am I old enough to confront these people and point out their flaws?