Hairy conundrum

For as long as I can remember, I have taken the piss out of my father’s hair loss. It was always my first target when some healthy banter was undertaken between us.

However, karma has suddenly reared it smug little face and decided that like my dad, I will also have to endure the crushing reality of a squeaky head by the time I’m thirty.

A recent example of the hairy Karma police came this week while I was adjusting the few follicles I have left at my disposal before going on a date.

I was using some product, which apparently gives you a textured look, yes denial is a warm feeling, but I was getting a bit frustrated at the general barren look it gave my head in the mirror

It was at this moment that my father walked by, and without breaking his stride, uttered ‘You can’t polish a turd’

Of course, he is right.