The hair

Brian was rolling the hair between his fore and index fingers. To an outside observer it may have looked like he was doing this casually. But this was not the case. Brian’s life had been ruined by this hair and so it was with great care and attention that Brian examined it.

The hair was long and blonde or rather it had been blonde when it was last attached to Sandra’s head. Blonde hair on its own hardly ever looks really blonde it looks like you would think gray hair should look. Or at least it does until you see a gray hair.

Brian had seen his very own first gray hair just six weeks ago. Jennifer had pointed it out to him and had made some kind of joke about it. She’d called him an old man and so on. Brian had laughed along but then while driving to work the next morning he realised that he needed to change his life. He decided that he didn’t want to become old he wanted to stay young. It wasn’t like he consciously made a decision to trade Jennifer in for a younger model. No it wasn’t like that. He had just happened to bump in to Sandra at the coffee machine. Sandra and Brian had flirted like they usually had but this time Brian hadn’t stopped as early as he usually would.

They hadn’t had sex on the photocopier or anything seedy, much to Brian’s disappointment, but they had started meeting for lunch. And then they had started telling their colleagues that they were “going to the gym”. It was the perfect cover.

Or it had been. Brian had been greedy though. He had tried to keep Jennifer in the dark. He didn’t want to commit to Sandra so he kind of hadn’t bothered telling Jennifer about Sandra just in case it didn’t work out.

It had worked well until the hair. The hair that got into his underpants. The hair that Jennifer had found. The hair that was definitely not Jennifer’s. The hair that Brian was rolling around in his fingers. The hair that he now allowed to drop to the floor. Brian thought as he watched it fall, that the stress of what was about to happen to him would probably mean more gray hair.

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