Don’t Worry, Son, It’ll Grow Back

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That’s what my mom told me as she laughed at my now infamous idiotic decision to let a non-English speaking Korean line my hair up. As every reader now knows, I’ve made some bad decisions recently. The other day one of my friends told me that I should have said to the guy, “Barack Obama” and that maybe I would’ve gotten a better line up. I don’t know if that’s true, but I certainly wasn’t trying to walk out of that place looking like Sherman Hemsley.

That picture above is from my most recent hair cut. Yes, I went and got another haircut, but no, not from the same person. Hell nawl. Even I am not that much of a glutton for punishment. I got referred to a new place, and don’t worry, the place was Black. In fact, when I walked in the barber who cut my hair was eating a fish plate in a big sytrafoam box. The minute I saw that I knew I would be alright. The fish place was across the street and get this, they take food stamps. Catfish is on the government, everyone!

Anyhow, when I sat down before he started cutting I immediately said, “OK, so I let someone mess me up a week ago, right.” Before I could even finish he said, “Oh no…I can tell. It’s way too high up.” Damn, that means it was as bad as I thought it was. I knew people were lying to me. However, I was told that it will grow back, which I was confident about. Unfortunately, I’ve been screwed up many times before. Damn cow lick.

I cut my hair really short and made sure that the line was brought back down so as my hair grows, everything will fall back into place. Naturally, now more people are going to walk up to me speaking Spanish, but the minute my accent comes out, they’re quick to whisper, “Ooooh. Soy Negro.” Or however you say damn, that’s a just a colored with a Caesar.

This will be the last update about this. I am not turning The Cynical Ones into a damn online hair journal. I’m only updating ya’ll before people start emailing my information about Just For Men and Lace Fronts. I appreciate the thought, but while I may be named after Michael Jackson, I’m not trying to use his glue.

Rest assured I will never ever let someone that doesn’t know Black hair or the English language cut my hair again. I can’t risk such a thing. Now, my feet, well, that’s another story.

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