Free Am I Right or Am I Right? by Barry Jonsberg Page B

up and put on my glasses.
    It’s not often I’ve nearly lost control of my bladder, but this was touch-and-go. I looked in the mirror and Gollum in a toupee looked back. We regarded each other suspiciously for a moment before I was led to reception and presented with a bill for $110. Under other circumstances, I would have laughed derisively. This time I handed over my credit card meekly. The small part of my brain still functioning noted, in a calm and distant fashion, that this completely wiped out my checking account. I clutched the receipt, gathered up my bag, and went out into the mall.
    I stood for a moment, hoping to see a bus I could throw myself under. Unfortunately, it was a mall.
    Then, at my bleakest moment, I saw it. The solution. The only solution. The final solution.
    I hurried across before the stall closed. I was the last customer. Ten minutes later, it was done. The Leukemia Foundation gave me a bandanna, which was a blessing, and heartfelt congratulations for doing my bit for those less fortunate than myself. I told them I’d get the money from my sponsors as soon as I could and drop the cash off at their main office.
    I examined myself in a shop window. Even though you could stick two fingers up my nose and use me for a bowling ball, it was an improvement. I tied the bandanna around my completely shaved head and headed for the bus stop.

Chapter 11
    A reflection on the positives in life, after mature consideration

Chapter 12
    Just your average date, part one
    Here’s another poser.
    You have secured a date with a young man who makes Orlando Bloom look like the dog’s dinner. Unfortunately, a deranged hairdresser has viciously attacked your head, necessitating a drastic solution that has left you doing an uncanny impersonation of a potato. You put on your glasses and look in a mirror. Ears stick out of a shiny globe, like handles on a hardboiled egg. If you went out on a sunny day, you’d dazzle the pilots of passing aircraft, precipitating a major catastrophe. What are you going to do?
    Do you cancel the date or go ahead and hope he doesn’t mind being seen in public with a bespectacled skinhead?
    I tried other options. I went into the Fridge’s wardrobe while she was out and found a blond wig. I had no idea why she owned one. Possibly it was a remnant from some ghastly costume party. You couldn’t describe it as a top-of-the-line accessory. It had the consistency of freeze-dried straw and contained enough static electricity to run a small appliance. I put it on.
    I looked like Goldilocks with breast implants.
    I decided to call Jason and call the whole thing off. I mean, what choice did I have? Maybe I could rearrange it for three months’ time, when I’d look as if I was at least a candidate for the human race. I’d even called the number—my finger was poised over the last digit—when I thought again.
    If I gave him the elbow now, there was no chance of reclaiming the situation. There were probably dozens of girls waiting in the wings to snap him up. Girls with washboard stomachs, master’s degrees in soccer administration, tiny halter tops, and long flowing hair that shimmered sexily as they walked. No. Jason was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
    I replaced the handset.
    So what if I had a head like an inflated marble? There’s more to attractiveness than the physical. I had a personality. I could be warm, charming, witty. Why should I prejudge Jason, compartmentalize him as a shallow chauvinist, when all the time he could be searching for an intelligent soul mate? For all I knew he was a closet Buddhist. To hell with it. I’d go. I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t.
    I felt better once I’d made the decision, so I locked myself in my bedroom and cried for two hours.
     
    I was buggered if I was going to school, though.
    Thursday evening wasn’t too bad. I stayed in, watching Discovery while simultaneously trying to decipher the arcane mysteries of probability theory. As far as I