As a guy who was fortunate enough to be born with a full head of voluminous hair, it’s often tough to complain about its management around friends and family who have begun to show signs of thinning and loss. That being said, it’s been brought to my attention that an unruly metamorphosis occurs on the top of my head as I partake in alcoholic beverages.
Being the scientist that I am, I decided to look into this phenomenon this past weekend as I was in the position to attend two parties that would allow me to consume the aforementioned beverages. My plan was to take a picture of my hair every couple drinks or so in order to chart the changes. Unfortunately, I forgot to take pictures due to my inebriation. All was not lost, however as through the magic of computers and eye witness testimony I was able to recreate what I believe occurs to my hair as I drink.
This is the way my hair looks before any alcohol is consumed. As you can see, it’s messy in a boy next door sort of way. A thin layer of hairspray has been put into place in order to prevent the volume from getting out of control.
With a single drink, the hairspray begins to show signs of deterioration but continues to hold back the volume to the best of its ability. Only the keenest of detectives and closest of talkers would notice the changes.
After three drinks, the hairspray has all but lost the battle and the full force of my hair begins to gather at the gate to freedom. I am able to maintain seamless interaction with party guests despite the changes at this point, though my wife or close acquaintances will begin to draw my attention to it.
The hairspray is barely hanging on as my hair begins to grow in thickness and ferocity. A strange side part also begins to emerge despite the lack of available combs. People in close proximity will most likely become casually uncomfortable and might begin to stare. At this point, my wife/friends will attempt to find people with more manageable hair to converse with.
7 drinks in and my hair has completely lost all respect for authority. My eyebrows, who’ve been calm and reserved this entire time, also begin to rebel against order, drifting ever closer to my uncontrollably imperialistic hairline. All efforts to restore order are not only lost but begin to exasperate the situation. Those around me begin to feel troubled and should I be in a bar or restaurant, attempts are made to cut me off.
My hair and eyebrows have officially allied with one another and my forehead begins to disappear. I no longer fight the changes. I’m not sure whether this is due to my intoxication or my acceptance of the inevitably of my hair’s victory.
The ability to navigate my surroundings has gotten worse as the hair and inebriation join forces to disrupt my vision. My eyebrows are completely absorbed during the conflict, the allegiance a ruse to open up the border between my forehead and the rest of my face without any obstacles. I forgive my eyebrows, knowing that I too will become lost in the tangle that continues crawling down my face. At this point I should be making my way home, though I’m probably not.
If I’m not home in bed at this point then something horrible is about to happen. Police officers can use the volume of my hair as evidence to prove I was over-served, which means that bartenders should take heed of my hair’s volume as much as my inability to walk and talk properly. Should I happen to be in the middle of singing karoeke, those around me should let me finish the song then escort me home as I’m more than likely going to start in on my version of Whitney Houston’s hit song “I Will Always Love You“.