What’s a girl to do when the guy doesn’t notice her new hair”do”?
Lily got a haircut and wanted Sam to notice it and say something affirming. The problem with Sam is that he never notices adjustments in Lily’s appearance until it’s too late. And he particularly is not creative in describing hair. Now, ask Sam to describe a hot dog, and that’s when the prose flows like a swollen river.
Anyway, Lily pranced into Sam’s world view all coifed and combed. Her first walk-by involved moving back and forth in front of him, tossing her head in that “check this out, big boy” way.
Sam’s unfortunate first comment: “Are you having a problem with your neck?”
Plan B: Lily sat down next to him and asked, coyly, “Sam, what do you find most attractive in a female—her personality or her hair?” To make sure he got it, she shook her curls—twice.
Stumped and losing composure, Sam replied, “What really means the most to me is the scent of her, agh, urine.”
What?” Lily sniffed. “That’s disgusting!”
“There’s nothing quite like a fresh, warm puddle in falling snow under cedars, the vapors rising to the sky…,” Sam rhapsodized.
“Oh, shut up, Cat-breath! What about a lady’s hair? Does that mean nothing to you?”
Totally flustered, Sam could only mutter, “Whoosh.”
“Sam! It’s my hair I’m talking about! Do you notice anything?”
This question, which has confounded the greatest men and philosophers of the ages, pushed Sam over the edge. From his jumbled thoughts came the words, “Your haircut makes your head look small and your body kind of big. But it’s, arr, cute!”
Sighing, Lily walked from the room. In a private place, she vented her tangled feelings by making several large tooth marks in Sam’s TV remote. After regaining her “center,” she returned and sat next to him.
You want to take a nap?” Sam asked, his drool spattering the floor.
“Whatever,” she said stretching out nearby—far enough away to maintain dignity, but close enough to feel the warm draft from Sam’s snores.