In Cotton City - The Old South

"Shorn head?" asked Elsa Mae Grabbethorn, reaching out to touch the man's gleaming noggin.  "Y'all got a shorn  head, now, don't you? "

"Ma'am, I..."

"I just purely love the feel of a shorn head...it reminds me of those little velveteen greeting cards I used to receive as a child.  My great aunt Jobyna once gave me such a card - I think it was for my fifth or sixth birthday - the cover of which was adorned with a hedgehog or a rabbit or a wolverine or some animal like that.  This particular hedgehog or rabbit or wolverine was crafted from a simply delicious velveteen material that was ever so pleasant to touch.  I would spend hours stroking the hedgehog or rabbit or wolverine, humming to myself and making up stories about a fantasy world called Suggville."

"Well, ma'am, I..."

"I do believe that if I ever would have had a male child I would have named him Sugg, so as to call him (after an affectionate fashion) 'Sugg-hog,' or 'Sugg-bunny,' or 'Sugg-wolf.'   I would be sure to keep his head closely shorn such as yours - that would render him absolutely irresistible to the young maidens at school, who would ask to stroke his head and call him 'Sugg-hog,' or 'Sugg-bunny,' or 'Sugg-wolf' - after a chaste but affectionate fashion, of course."

"But ma'am, I..."

"I am so very pleased to see that a man of your apparent fashion sense and gentlemanly behavior has the good sense to keep his cranial melon ever so closely shorn," she said, reaching out again and rubbing his head vigorously, "but I do detect a difference."

"Ma'am...?"

"Your knobby little melon is very closely shorn, of course, but it has the feel of wet lambskin - the inside part of the lambskin, though, if you know what I mean.  Such as when you skin a lamb and then touch the part that was on the inside, next to the meat and the bones.  That is what your head feels like.  Either that or the moist part of a ham and watercress sandwich.  I do purely love fresh ham and watercress sandwiches...especially on white bread.  The one failing in such a scrumptious gastronomic offering is that part of the bread will inevitably get wet and become somewhat clammy or even slimy.  That is what your head feels like.  I am unaccustomed to such a texture on a shorn head."

"Ma'am, I must explain," offered the man with the gleaming noggin.

"Explain if you must."

"My head is far from shorn.  It was, rather, rendered smooth by means of an industrial accident, in which each and every hair follicle was forcibly and painfully removed from my scalp by a large cattle-pressing machine."

"I see," said Elsa Mae, adjusting her bustle.  "Softened thorax? " she asked with great interest as she reached out her hand toward the man's chest. "Y'all been doin' yoga, now, haven't you? "