Thursday, April 2, 2015

B: Baldy


“I might even forgive you if you have an affair, but I’ll never forgive you if you shave off your hair.” Christine rolled her eyes at Robert and stared at him.

“Hey, c’mon, I’m allergic to hair colour and I don’t want to go around with a white bush on my head.” Robert tousled his hair.

“I don’t mind and why should you be bothered if others mind?” Robert sat down with his head in his palms. He knew it was futile to argue with her. She had always had this spite against baldness.

“Why are you scared of bald people?” He asked.

“I’m not. It’s not fear. It’s like cockroaches. I just find them nasty.”

“What will you do if the baby is bald?”

“How can you say such a thing? Of course, she won’t be bald.”

“But many babies are born bald.”

“Not mine. I was born with a head full of hair and so will she be.”

“Let’s see,” Robert said.

Three months had rolled by since they had that conversation. Now, as he stood outside the delivery room, listening to Christine’s screams, he wondered on how they could argue about something so futile. ‘Two lives were at stake and she was just concerned about the baby’s hair,’ he thought. ‘Women!’ Christine shrieked again and Robert felt faint. He sat down to calm his pulsing heart. Suddenly, he heard a baby’s cry, the cry of victory. He kneeled down to pray right there, that very second with tears streaming down from his eyes.

After a dozen minutes, the doctor ushered him inside to meet Christine. She had a tired glow of achievement. The baby was dozing in her arms.

“Did I scare you?” Christine asked.


“But we’ve done it. See our baby.”

“Christine, she’s bald.”

Christine rolled her eyes and stared at him. “How can you say such a thing? Bald babies are the most beautiful of all. Don’t you know that?”




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