#receeding

I once broke up with a girl because...

Being of Maltese descent I am very much fan of hair. Allow me to clarify, hair on one’s head. Allow me to further clarify, yes I can grow Amazon like facial hair and am prone to big hair moments but from my shoulders down I am more Caucasian than Mediterranean. That being the case, it is without question that hair is an important factor in any potential relationship with a girl.

In the midst of the Naughties I began seeing a girl who I met at a day at the races. I believe this fact provided the simple misgiving that caused me heartache and grief later in the piece. Uniform requirements for a female at the races consist of some type of extravagant headwear, also known as a fascinator. Adorned atop of the girl’s head was an elaborately homemade fascinator. In this instance homemade is not a synonym for shithouse. I took a liking to the being beneath the bonnet and things progressed to a date at a venue without our equine neighbours.

The lack of horses also meant a lack of headwear and it was this moment when I believe a particular line had been crossed. The line in question was a receding one, reminiscent of the interval between a foaming wave on the sandy shoreline at a beach… or did it?

To this day I was never actually sure if this was an issue of receding or just the eyes of a keratonic male playing tricks on him. Hindsight suggests I should have included scalpel massage into my boyfriendly duties but I was also very frightened that this would result in one of those low tides where you could walk for kilometres and in actual fact be out in the midst of the ocean. Without the wordsmith imagery, I thought the line would continue to recede to a point where it would pull right off like a Native Indian being scalped in the hit TV series Deadwood.