THE MAYOR’S NEW HAIRCUT
Not many years ago there was a mayor of a large cosmopolitan city in the center of a tri-state area. He was very fond of his personal appearance, and he was very distressed about his male-pattern baldness. He thought a mayor should not have to be bald like other men.
Every day, hosts of strangers came to visit the great city where he lived. One day, among the visitors came two swindlers. They posed as hairstylists, and said they knew how to weave the most beautiful hairstyles imaginable. They told the mayor that they had a magic hairstyle that could actually add hair to the top of his head, and this magic hairstyle had the peculiar quality of making his new hair invisible to anyone who was a fool or unfit for their office.
“That must be a splendid hairstyle,” said the mayor, “I simply must have it.” The swindlers demanded enormous amounts of money and lots of superhold gel that registered 10 on the hair gel strength rating scale, and set about styling his hair for hours. They pretended to add hair to his head, but all they did was comb the hair from the side of his head where it still grew and fastened it in place with lots of superhold gel on the top of his head where it had not grown since he was a young prosecuting attorney.
When they were finished, they had the mayor look in the mirror. “What!” thought the mayor; “I can still tell that I am bald. Am I a fool? Am I not fit to be mayor?” But, that’s not what he said.
“Oh, it’s beautiful!” said the mayor. “It has my highest approval!” Nothing would make him say that he could not see any hair on the top of his head.
He showed his hairstyle to his faithful officials. They gazed and gazed, and all of them saw a bald man with hair from the side of his head swooped over the top of his head, but they were all afraid that the others would think they were fools so they said, “It’s very beautiful,” “It’s gorgeous,” and they advised the mayor to wear his new hairstyle on the occasion of the big procession that was about to take place.
The mayor gave each of the rogues the order of knighthood and gave them the title of “Gentleman Weavers” and released them from their parking tickets.
Soon the word spread and everyone in the city knew the power that the mayor’s hairstyle possessed, and everyone was anxious to see the hairstyle at the big procession to find out how stupid his neighbor was.
The swindlers demanded more money and more of the most expensive superhold gel. They combed his hair for hours and hours every morning.
When the day came for the great procession, the mayor walked along the streets and everyone proclaimed, “How beautiful the mayor’s hair is!” No one would let it appear that they saw the enormous bald area on the top of the mayor’s head, least they would be proved unfit for their post or else a fool.
“The mayor has no hair,” said a little child.
“Oh, listen to the innocent,” said the child’s father. Then one person whispered to the other what the child said and at last all the people cried, “The mayor has no hair.”
The mayor writhed, for he knew it was true, but he thought “the procession must go on,” so he held him self stiffer than ever, and he was reelected anyway because the national economy was in good shape and the national crime rate went down.