KICKING THE HOBBIT

It's a warm sunny day, the neighborhood is quiet, and there are hardly any people about. And not a single droplet-breathing jogger out there trying to infect everybody. And it started well; coffee and a cigarillo on the front steps.
As soon as my apartment mate had left to go to her almost empty office (she hates working from home), I went into the bathroom where I stayed for over an hour. Cutting my own hair.

The good news is I'll never be drafted for barber duty.
The bad news is Clopidogrel. Also called 'Plavix'.

Clopidogrel is an antiplatelet medication prescribed to people who have had a stent put in for the entire year afterward. And although it's been well over a year, my regular doctor and the doctor subbing for him want to keep me on it till my cardiologist says it's okay to discontinue. Which means that a hair cutting accident has not clotted yet.

The further bad news is an amateurish haircut. Fortunately not too bad (as I am neurotic about minor details), but I have no idea what the back of my head looks like seeing as I do not have a hand mirror to guide me there.
It feels all right. Probably looks like crap.

When I was out smoking my pipe nobody said anything.

Because, of course, nobody even got close enough.

I flatter myself that if the tobacco doesn't make people avoid me, the poor little starving orphan girl hairdo will. The third ace up my sleeve is I can always clobber them with my walking stick, which I do not need for walking, but carry with me as a personal guarantor of social distancing. Fourth ace: weird whimpering and talking to myself. If none of the other things work.

Regarding Clopidogrel, per Wikipedia: "Common side effects include headache, nausea, easy bruising, itching, and heartburn."

Haven't had a headache since 2018. Nausea isn't an issue. Heartburn can be avoided by eating better. Yes, I'm more itchy than I used to be.
After every day at work I would count the new bruises.
For the aficionado, tobacco cures nausea.
And I give people headaches.


Mostly aged red Virginia in the pipe, mixed with a small quantity of black Virginia, and a fraction of Perique. Altogether rather phenomenal. Years ago the daughter of a friend sniffed one of my pipes and said it smelled like Hobbit. If Hobbits smelled like that, they'd be more tolerable.
Instead of cutesy-poo cretins you want to kick.

Damned hippies.


AFTER WORD

The medical staff at the clinic have repeatedly urged me to kick the Hobbit. Believe me, I too wish to do that. Where is the little bastard?
And can you pin him down so he doesn't move?

TOBACCO INDEX


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