Dodo Eggs

This story is a good example of a bad idea.  I wrote it in college when young people were still wandering around with the “bowl cut.”  It was a nauseating style with short hair around the sides and back with long hair from the top cut evenly around the outside of the skull.  Perhaps it would be better to say the haircut looked like a mushroom.

Here’s another small note.  When I originally wrote this story, I misspelled bowl.  Instead I wrote bowel over and over again and never realized it.  Really, I think that’s funnier than the story.

Here it is…

Richard had a poor haircut.  Years ago, his mother Delilah attended the Bradshaw Bowl School of Beauty.  There, she was converted to the practical nature of the bowl cut and its worldwide propagation.  She was a zealot who would walk through the mall and cast scorn upon the buzz cuts and tasseled curls of other children.
 
Fed with a near constant diet of fruit flavored protein shakes, Richard’s hair grew quickly.  It allowed Delilah to experiment with the latest variations of the bowl cut such as the Saturn Tipper (a bowl cut with a distinct thirty-degree slant).

Richard despised the bowl cut and fought like a stuck pig each time.  Against his will he would be forcibly strapped into a gothic, high-backed chair; the red velvet a cruel comfort as Delilah patiently waited for her son’s protests to quiet.  This could take up to an hour. 

Delilah’s template was an adjustable plastic bowl molded to fit across the human skull that she called Venus’s Toilet since it resembled a urinal so strongly.  Once it was on, she simply shaved any hair hanging from the edges.  When she finished, Delilah would pull of the Venus Toilet and congratulate herself.  

Summer’s days were beginning to wane away, and Richard’s hair was showing signs of recovery from its last beating at the hands of Delilah.  With school again on the horizon, Richard decided that nothing would keep him from walking into school that first day with a normal, unassuming crew cut.  Using the full capacity of his twelve-year-old mind, Richard hatched a devious plan to spare his hair. 

One morning after breakfast, Delilah addressed him, “Say Dick, are you going to be busy tomorrow after lunch?”

Richard replied, “Mom!  Please stop calling me that!  I realize you have been removed from any real social contact for sometime so I will excuse you.  But the name carries small connotation I would prefer to avoid.

Oh yea, and I’m busy.

 His mother paused before stating, “Hmmm, we will see.  Now finish your shake.   Remember, rest makes the hair grow faster.”

Richard sat in his room staring into the closet conjuring laughing peers, raised eyebrows, and second glances.  If he received another bad bowl cut, his first day of school would break his sanity.

Finally a strategy hit him.  He crept out of bed, and into his parent’s bedroom.  Quietly he removed one of his mother’s favorite wigs and one of his father’s favorite inflatable women.  He then eased his way downstairs to complete his plan. 

When the sun next shone over the horizon, Richard leaped out of bed.  With a sharp spring to his step, his plan was brought into action.  He went downstairs, and inflated the woman.  Richard placed a very tight turtleneck and sweater over the frontal portion of the toy woman.  Finally, he added the wig and a sign.

The sign read, “Hello Mom.  I awoke with unparalleled excitement.  I simply cannot wait to observe my new bowl cut.  The excitement has stricken me speechless.  Clamps will not be necessary this time as I have already sedated myself.  I think you will find me a willing participant.  Love, Dick.”

Richard’s plan was in full swing.  He left, and marched straight towards a normal barbershop.  When he returned, Richard rushed downstairs to dispose of the now mutilated dummy.

The first day of school, everyone took time to comment on Richard’s new hairstyle.  Every girl wanted to play tag.  Every boy wanted Richard on his team.  Every teacher assumed he was intelligent, and assigned As to his papers.

The principal was called upon to divulge information regarding Richard’s hair.  “Dick, my boy, who cut your hair?”

Richard replied, “I am proud to say that Delilah Phelps, my own mother, cut my hair.”

Everyone at this particular community made haste to the Phelps’ door.  They had their children lined up, and were begging for Delilah to cut hair.  Such a demand caused Mrs. Phelps to open a barbershop downtown, which she called the Super Bowl.

Richard thought all was well until he heard a commotion from his parent’s bedroom.  His mother was working late at the Super Bowl, and his father had gone to bed.

Suddenly, Richard’s father appeared in Richard’s doorway.  “Where is Bambi?”  He yelled.  Richard knew he was in trouble.

• Eugene’s Diary
• Redirected Proposal
• Latent Heat
• Male Studies – Letter 9
• The Dynamics of Weakness