Thursday, October 23, 2014

There are certain things one tries not to mention in public. Other than ones specifics in love life, so to speak.

But I do want to mention I’ve been watching TV. Excessive TV. And that got me to thinking about the frangible’s of getting old. Not too old, and the thing I noticed about this getting old thing is walking in the rain.

You first notice when it rains those tiny, cold drops. You feel them hit your head. Well, not your head so much as you feel the cold little pricks strike your scalp, and if you are a thinking man, such as myself, you think to yourself, it didn’t use to feel like that, it use to feel like the rain was hitting my head.

A bit more and you think, well, this stuff is hitting my scalp, not my hair. And you realize that while you have hair all over your head, it just isn’t quite as thick as it was back when . . . well, wives and some girlfriends can be charitable.

So, it’s not as thick as it once was. Sounds like the truth.

But I wanted to point out the TV anchors. They have that meta hair. Sleek sides, well trimmed and cared for, but the top looks like something from Moravian Lands End sheeps butt.

All back combed and standing up stupidly, maybe like a Donald Trump envy hair=do, you know what I mean. Strange. Maybe they’re all bald and get their hair from the stations prop shop and the same one is so popular that the prop people don’t have time to comb  it out program to program and just jam it on the anchors head.

Uhm? Yeah. My dog is envious. I’m not. I keep mine short, but those rain drops still bother me furiously, I keep thinking of getting as old as my father, older maybe. I know I will – if I live long enough, that is.


From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey 

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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