Greg was going to hate her hair. She just knew it. Or he would laugh. The woman who stared back at her in the mirror was not her. She didn’t have a forehead that showed like that. She loved a disappearing forehead. A forehead underneath a head of hair.

Here her hairdresser told her this was the fashion. All the women were wearing their hair this way. Her golden hair pulled back and held in place by the barrettes. No, Greg was going to hate it. What had she been thinking when the hairdresser proposed such an arrangement?

And now she was feeling the cold air against the skin of her forehead. She either had to go back to the hairdresser and admit she didn’t like it, go to another hairdresser or show Greg. None of the options were good ones. And she knew it.

Was there a way for her to make that forehead go away?

She started the unpinning. She shook her hair free of the constraints. It was short. She’d never had it this short before. What had she been thinking?

She picked up the scissors and snip, snip, snip. A little here, a little there. She fiddled with the strands for a half hour. Finally, the hair took shape the way she liked it. Though it was thin, the hair covered her forehead. Fashion or no fashion, this was going to have to do.

haiku for the day: getting dressed

We spend a lot of time in our civilization costuming ourselves. We question every piece of clothes we put on in the morning to go out into the world. Mostly we prefer to remain in our p.j.s and not go out. But here we are, facing the closet and trying to determine what will best fit our mood for the day. And it’s not just women. We guys can be hung-up about what we will wear. We hide it better than they do. And we used to be even worse. When most of us wore ties out into the universe. One thing is for sure. When all is said and done, we’re just clothes hangers for the clothes we wear. And a lot of us are walking billboards, advertising things we aren’t paid to advertise. Think t-shirts.

blue shirt or red one
dressing for the day ahead
which matches the pants


I know those fashion designers are crazy. But spandex shoes? I got to tell you I ain’t wearing spandex shoes on my feet. No matter what my wife says.

First off, you have to understand, spandex makes me itch. It’s worse than poison ivy. And I know how poison ivy itches. I sat down on some once. It was worse than that one time I had cactus needles in my butt.

On top of that, I had to sleep on my tummy. In all my life, I have never been able to sleep on my tummy. It always gives me the tummy ache. And diarrhea. Not only did I have an itchy butt, it was runny too. That’s called killing two birds with one stone and that’s the results of having poison ivy my sitting place.

With all that Spandex foot itching, how am I going to walk? Last time my feet itched that bad, they had to cut off my right big toe. So now I’m going to be walking around with no right big toe and my feet itching up the wazoo. A cop stops me and gives me one of them straight-line-walking sobriety tests, I will never walk a straight line. On top of that, I’ve got one hell of a lisp. That cop’ll arrest me for sure, thinking I am driving drunk.

What’s a fella to do? My wife usually isn’t unreasonable and I do love her so. Guess when she says I wear spandex shoes, I wear spandex shoes. Even if it costs me my other big toe. After all, I had to give her daddy my right eye. You know, the good one. ‘Fore he decided I could marry his pride and joy.

Well, one thing’s for sure. No matter what that Ralph Lauren says, I am not wearing pink spandex shoes. It would be as embarrassing as that kid in the bunny suit in “The Christmas Story”.

Hamlet puts on a play, nyah nyah nyah

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts…
As You Like It. Act 2 Scene 7.

For Hamlet’s plot till now, see Hamlet So Far.

Act 3 Scene 2 (continued).


Dear Reader, I know you have been anxious to hear all the news at the Castle. Your Auntie Yorick is Johnny-on-the-spotsky with the latest. Last night there was a murder. A real live murder. It was the piece de resistance “The Murder of Gonzago”, and that play was something else. And I’m talking a capital Something and a capital Else.

Over the years, I’ve seen all the plays. “A Spanish Tragedy” by Tommy Kyd. Chris Marlowe’s “Doctor Faustus”. (That was a really good’un.) Romeo and Juliet by that guy from Stratford. I never can remember his name but he’s written some great ones. Anyway R&G has a real bummer of an ending.

I must tell you the prince himself directed this one. That Hamlet, he is turning into to a man with many talents. Now he’s given us this play, and wow. I mean, double wow. And the actors. I got to tell you the players in this “Gonzago” were almost as good as our own Richard Burbage and his gang of Chamberlain’s Men. If actors ever strutted their stuff on stage, these players had stuff they knew how to strut. Boy, did they ever.

Both their Magnanimousnesses were in attendance. They entered with the trumpets trumpeting a root-a-toot-toot. The king’s wear was designed by none other than Giorgio Armani. His Magnanimousness wore the finest purple with gold and scarlet trim from his itsy bitsy toesies to his fur-lined hat reaching for the ceiling. The colors were so bright they would blind a person if one looked at him straight-on.

There was only one person who upstaged the king. Queen Gertrude. She wore a black Azzaro Couture gown revealing enough queenly skin to make everybody blush. The glass slippers alone were a revelation. The skirt to her dress was so transparent that you could get a gander on her long, thin legs. The top on her dress had an oval opening that showed a belly-button button of solid gold. The top draped over the queen and unbuttoned, barely covering her bosoms. The crown on the tippy top of her head was bejeweled in jewels that would make the crown jewels in the Tower of London envious.

Normally their Magnanimousnesses would have sat on their royal tushes on the royal furniture. Not this time. I was informed that, if they sat, their clothes would break. Then the emperor would have no clothes. So they chose to stand. As they stood their stand, they were dignified in their standing as royals are wont to do.

I have to say that it was good to see the Prince back with the lovely Ophelia. She wore a simple white country dress, covered in bouquets of flowers. Hamlet, as usual, showed no fashion sense at all. He was in regular black. He may be a prince, but his fashion-sense is downright serf. While the couple watched the play, they were like two turtledoves, turtledoving as if turtledoving was going out of style.

The play opens with a prologue in pantomime. A murder occurs. A king is poisoned. The murderer takes his place beside the king’s bride. Then the play begins. During the performance, the prince kept talking over the actors’ lines. I guess he was throwing out his jokes to impress his ladylove. He sure had her laughing. Sometimes it was hard to hear the players’ words over the prince’s jabs. But he kept coming out with the funniest lines. That Prince Hamlet, he’s a riot sometimes.

Just as the play was getting interesting, the king’s man, Polonius, interrupted and threw the lights on. The king had displeasure written all over his face. He did one of his world class trumpisms, made a lewd comment about immigration and left the performance. Could it be that his feet were hurting in those tight pointy shoes on his feet? One thing is for sure. Those shoes squeaked as the king waddled out of the hall, an unpleasant frown on his face.

As she followed the king in his exit, Queen Gertrude threw Hamlet a face that said, “Just what are you up to?” I have to tell you it was not a nice face. I do hope that the prince will be forgiven for his rudeness during the play. He has had a rough time of things since his daddy died.

Since they irked king’s displeasure, will the players get paid? I hope so. They performed their performance of murder so well, so realistic. They deserve a bonus in addition to the equity they normally receive.

The king ran through the castle halls, calling out, “Lights, lights.” It was as if he were in some interminable darkness. I love that word “interminable”. Always wanted to use it in a column. One of my New Year’s resolutions. Now I can lay it to rest.

‘Til next time.
Your Auntie Yorick.