The atavistic head

              The water had grown tepid so I reluctantly stepped out of the shower. I love my wife, but hate that she is always able to spring out of bed and use up he hot water before I even open my eyes. I end up washing like I were an Indie pit crew to eek out any warmth from the dredges of the bottom of the hot water heater.
         Towel around my middle, I shave in the mirror. My wife strolls in to subtlety inch me out of view so she can put on eyeliner. Combing my hair, I half listened to her reminding me to pick up dry cleaning and something else. Like I said, I wasn’t really listening. Instead, I was examining my brush.
         “Where did all this hair come from? Are you using my brush?” 
         She gave me a frown, “are you kidding? Its your brush and your hair Sweetie.”
         “How can that be?” I mumbled. “Look at this, there’s enough hair in this brush to make a cat.”
          “Its from your bald spot Honey. Where did you think your hair goes?”
         “BALD SPOT! BALD SPOT! What bald spot!”
         “Oh honey, you’ve had a bald spot for a year at least.”
         “How the hell, no way, I mean, what the hell!” I stood there feeling my head, with visions of sunscreen and hats in my future.
         My wife just smiled and said “its nothing Baby, just an atavistic gene making you cuter.” She grinned, gave me a peck on the cheek and left me alone to ponder what more important things I hadn’t lost.