A Newly Bald Man's Perfect Texas Saturday... in Florida
Quasi-Fiction, Copyright (C) 18 December 2015 by Bob Hurt. All rights reserved.
A pair of other men, disgustingly hirsute, gawked at me as they strode past me into the barber shop.
"I dare you to say a word," I muttered under my breath as I walked away from the shop, my freshly balded pate gleaming proudly, nay, brazenly, in the 10 A.M. Perfect Saturday sun. I felt like a man not to be messed with, in spite of my small frame and slight build.
I sucked on the butterscotch hard candy my barber had handed me as she surveyed her work. Mimi, my hot, Bronx, bleach-blonde barber, had taunted me with her irresistible cleavage as she assiduously removed every hair on my scalp. Her lipsticked, pouty mouth seemed as brash as my slickly shaven dome. "Not a hair out of place," she had smirked, "or rather IN place." She had cackled, and then shaken her sumptuous buttocks to make them quiver lewdly over her handiwork and wisecrack.
I grinned as I turned over the big engine in my 1970 Caddy convertible. I pictured how marvelously those tight yoga pants rode up into Mimi's butt crack, leaving almost nothing to my rabid imagination. Mimi, a natural perfectionist, had remained my favorite barber for a decade, ever since I had moved into Clearwater Florida from Silicon Valley to crank the handle on the money machine.
I loved working as a software/hardware entrepreneur in the fast-paced computer diagnostics development business. My competitors had grown to fear me and the state-of-the-art software releases in our diagnostics package. My new, shaven-head look would probably shake them up even more when they saw me at the computer exposition in Hanover Germany this coming March. Judging from our sales, technicians the world over far preferred our PC Clinic diagnostics over competing products. And when it comes to competition, nothing says "Kiss my ass, and give me your best shot" like intentional baldness.
Within minutes I had grabbed a cup of scalding joe topped with half-and-half at the Dunkin Donuts drive-through. I set it in the cup holder, cranked up ZZ Top's Sharp Dressed Man on my stereo, caught the on-ramp, and rumbled south on US Highway 19. I noticed that my hair didn't whip in the breeze as it usually did. I headed for my appointment with the Tampa Bay Times reporter. I had a new computer diagnostic test card I wanted him to announce to the world. I owed him a scoop for helping emcee my Test Theories seminar last month in Tampa.
As I hit the gas and felt the surge of the beefed-up 500 cubic inch engine under the hood, I reveled in the demonic but heavenly roar of the quad glasspack exhaust system. I had enough power to do wheelies at 100 mph, if I chose to live that dangerously. Nothing sounds or feels quite like sitting at the helm of a steroidal Cadillac convertible at 70 MPH with the top down on the open road, except, perhaps, doing it bald. Ah, what a marvelous day!
More good times lay ahead of me on this perfect Saturday, events that would parallel those I had enjoyed many times while residing in Houston, Texas.
I'd finish my appointment in St. Pete around noon, then meet Maria's ex-husband and my fast friend, Eddie, at Fat Boy's Barbeque for ribs, jalapenos, buttered southern cornbread, baked beans, slaw, and iced tea. Then we'd head over to Top Of The World gaming room for a few matches of pocket billiards. Eddie, "El Palo Largo" (the big stick), we called him, would discipline me repeatedly in the fine art of running the table.
After the games, we'd meet Willie-T down at the pistol range and spend an hour blasting hot lead at paper-covered metal targets. I love the sound of bullets making those steel plates clang like a bell. I spent hours last night reloading the three hundred .45 caliber rounds we'd expend in target practice. I'd love watching Willie do some of his trick shooting, hitting the target with his eyes shut, and wonder how he does it.
We'd top off our afternoon with a stopover at The Oasis "Sports Bar" for a little topless entertainment by some of our Facebook friends. There we'd also watch UFC reruns while nursing a few brews to take the edge off the day. We'd talk about guns, bullets, cars, and pool, and have a few innocent laughs. Finally, we'd head home for dinner and a date with whoever awaited us.
My darling Maria and our mini-Schnauzer, Dxtr, will greet me at the door, of course. Dxtr will jump excitedly around on his hind feet to express his delight at my arrival home, and bring me a toy to tug on with him. Maria will, I imagine, find it impossible not to put her hands on my scalp to feel its smoothness. If she gets carried away, we might never make it to the dinner table.
But if we do, afterward we'll snuggle up romantically on the couch and watch whatever TV show she fancies. She won't ask me much about my day because she knows how such Saturdays go. But she always seems curious about Mimi for some reason. She'll tell me about her adventures and how much she made or lost in the stock market. Before too long we'll both fee drowsy and mosey off to bed.
And I shall have enjoyed a Perfect Texas Saturday, in sunny Florida.
Oh, how great to experience life, friends, family, and competition with a new and studly look!