He was reading Big Sky by Kate Atkinson, and enjoying it. His laptop was on in front of him on the desk, and the television was playing an old movie, Jumanji. Sunday evening multi-tasking at his finest, in his opinion, reaching for another piece of Colby and a cracker.
His shifting position let him see her in her armchair to his left. She was giving him a look. Having been together for fifty years, he’d developed insights into her looks. Although many would see it as outwardly little different from her other looks, small clues in lips, eyes, and her head’s posture led him along a diagnostic path that finished, she’s about to register a complaint.
A bright smile was flashed her way. “What’s up?” The cheese and cracker found his mouth. It was so good, he reached for more.
“You need a haircut, babe.”
He shrugged, prepared to return to his book. “You’re probably right.” She was, but he wasn’t going to be so bald about it.
“I don’t understand your attitude toward your hair. Have you seen yourself ? Your hair is an unkempt mess.”
“Unkempt mess, as opposed to a kempt mess? Is kempt a word? I should google that.”
“You look like a homeless bum.”
“Isn’t that redundant? If you have a home, can you — ”
“Don’t change the subject. My point is that your hair is a mess. What’s with you and your hair?”
“Well, my philosophy is simple.” Raising a glass of pinot noir in her direction, he smiled. “Hair today, gone tomorrow.”
She was not amused.