My Wild Hair

I can think of two definitions for a "wild hair."
The purest, in my opinion, is a wild hair that actually is a hair.
Your opinion may vary.

I've got a wild hair.
It's really wild.
Please.
Hold your applause.

My wild hair is singular, not plural.
Dark, not light.
Whiskery, not soft.

Fact is, it's so whiskery it does a passable impression of a real whisker. Only it can't be a real whisker. It's growing on my chin after all. Whiskers and my chin do not go together. Even the thought is too wrong for words.

So this hair-that-is-not-a-whisker crops up on my chin every now and again. To be more precise, it crops up under my chin. I usually realize it has returned while I am driving. For some reason my hand finds its way to my chin when I sit in traffic.

Hold on. Just a moment. I feel a strong need to offer up a reminder I'm talking about a single whisker wild hair. It's not like I'm growing a chinful of whiskers wild hairs. It's one whisker wild hair. Okay. Besides, I know you've got one too. At least one. It doesn't have to be a dirty little secret.

I imagine you can imagine I recently again found said wild hair on my chin, inspiring me to discuss it. I plucked it and now it is gone until it returns.

Then there is the other common definition of "wild hair." The definition that has nothing to do with whiskers. This definition is all about impulse. As in "I've got a wild hair to write about my whisker wild hair."

That's the kind that can't be plucked.

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