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Steel on the Inside, Steel on the Outside? (Or, "On getting a haircut screwed up")

Life is funny.

About 36 hours ago, I wrote "Steel on the Inside, Silk on the Outside."

I think most guys are afraid to do this – to wear light colors, to go to a spa, to being silly and lighthearted, these traditionally feminine things. I think most guys go out of their way to appear tough, rugged, macho. And you know why? I think it’s because most of ‘em are soft on the inside, scared, powerless, aimless.

My philosophy is be as strong as steel on the inside, and light and gentle like silk on the outside.



On Wellington Street

It all started with a knock at the door. It was a late Christmas Eve, and it took some time for my father to separate himself long enough to answer the door and turn on the light. I followed him through the crowd of people I didn't know, friends of my father. My dad opened the door, the cold air stinging my face from my position next to my father's leg. There in the doorway was a very tall, pale creature. Its long, spindly limbs were settled close to its frame, its knees tucked against its chin as it attempted to fit within the short expanses of the porch.

“It's cold...Can I come in?”

Its face betrayed nothing of the motives behind its presence, save a warm smile settled low below a pair of bloodshot eyes. Its hair was drawn back and greasy, its form seeming to be lost between distinctions, rendering it without a sense of gender. The only clothes it wore was a single white nightie, its bare feet ending in purpled flesh surrounding blue toenails that sunk and trembled in the snow.

I looked back at the den, where all the stockings were hung. My mothers was still in the in the box. Dad said it wouldn't be going up this year...Meanwhile, the song “Santa Claus is Coming Town” began to play, the other members of my family yet to be aware of that horror that crouched at our front door.

“You better not pout, you better not cry, you better no shout I'm telling you why...”

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