| MOP HEAD - Part 7 by The Bard |
| All that happened fifteen years ago. Since then we have led a conventional life. We have two wonderful children, a boy and a girl, the oldest of whom is twelve - not far off my age when this story began. Neither of them inherited my hair, which, as a mother, I probably feel is a blessing, although my daughter does have long sleek dark hair � not unlike my school friend Mary�s. Mark has prospered in his career, and we now live in substantial suburban home, a short train journey from central London. I have just started work again for a local firm of accountants, part time. All in all, we are an unexceptional, modern, prosperous suburban London family. In all respect but one. Over the fifteen years since our marriage, I have not cut my hair. Mark occasionally spends an evening searching for split ends, a task for which he has never ending patience. Other than that, my hair is a stranger to scissors. Outside of the four walls of our house, nobody knows how long my hair is. Mark and I have become experts in finding ways of disguising its length in public. Of course, the mass of my hair will often draw comment, but if anyone asks, I tell them that it is a bit longer than knee length � which seems to satisfy even the most curious. All requests for me to let my hair down are flatly refused! Almost since before our marriage I have ceased to see my hair as public property. Something so close to our sexual and private life should, in my view, remain private. I do not see it as anyone else�s business to explain why I have grown my hair so long. Neither do I believe my hair should provide pleasure for any man other than Mark. In this respect I have often felt I have much in common with Muslim women who cover their hair for similar reasons. I do not feel oppressed by it. Indeed, quite the opposite. I would feel more oppressed by the daily pressure of other people�s attention - favourable or unfavourable � and their intrusive questioning of my motives. I must admit that, once my hair passed floor length, my main motivation for growing it was to please Mark. Once I had seen my hair resting on the ground, it didn�t make much difference to me whether the length on the ground was one foot, two feet or three. Mark, however, saw things differently. He watched my hair�s progress with a keen interest � each new milestone spurred him to new levels of excitement and passion. For him, it was as if his childhood dream of marrying Rapunzel had come true, and he enjoyed every minute of it. Initially, I had concerns about growing my hair purely for Mark�s pleasure. Should I not wear my hair to please myself? Did he love me only for my hair? However, these concerns have long ceased to worry me. When I look at the richness of our sexual life after fifteen years of marriage I wonder how many other couple are so fulfilled. Also, in all this time, Mark has never so much as looked at another woman. I feel totally secure in his love � not least because of his total passion for my hair. Also, I believe he deeply appreciates what I have done for his pleasure. It is on such joint commitment that a happy marriage is based. THE END |