It’s odd, isn’t it? The nose, the mouth, the chin, the cheek bones, the forehead, the eyes – all there just the same. And yet change the way that wispy stuff on top of the head is arranged and a dull face can look scintillating while an attractive one can suddenly become dull. And therein lies a problem of fraud, or at least falsehood.
Let’s say you go to a party and meet a young woman who looks absolutely ravishing. She invites you home to meet grandma and the two cats, and you stay overnight. The following morning you happen to see her coming out of the bathroom having had a shower, and her wet hair is slicked back across her head. Suddenly you wish you’d gone to the football match instead. (And this isn’t being sexist; it can work both ways.)
Something similar happened to me once, you know. I took up with a gorgeous-looking girl in a nightclub, she disappeared half way through the night, I used all my wiles to track her down, and then I wished I hadn’t. (And when she took me home it wasn’t grandma and the two cats I met, but her strange husband who got very angry because she’d served his rice pudding hot when she knew he liked it cold. My life’s been a bit odd like that. I saw her again some years later in a snooker hall, dallying with a young man who worked in my office. He was about ten years younger than her and had terribly bad breath. I think I potted the next red in celebration.)
So anyway, I’ve decided that in my next life I’m going to be President of the World Government (or the country’s Prime Minister, or the tribal chief, or whoever is in charge of whatever sort of system we’ve taken to living in by then.) And I’m going to make a law that nobody is allowed to have hair or wear hats. That way we will all be able to know what the person standing next to us really looks like and the world will be a better place.
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