Part 21 (2/2)

Plus, it's a bargain if you break it down by strand. By my calculations, Jen spent only fifty cents a hair. I got that number by going online and plugging ”how many hairs on a woman's head” into Google. I didn't bother to verify the information. This is the comic relief department, remember?

Anyway, the computer reports that the number of hairs on a woman's head varies with her haircolor. Who knew? A blonde has 140,000 hairs on her head, but Jennifer Aniston isn't a natural blonde, because they're extinct. They died off millions of years ago in a meteor shower, or maybe they ran out of vegetation, scientists aren't sure, but either way, nowadays we all highlight our hair and forget our natural color. of years ago in a meteor shower, or maybe they ran out of vegetation, scientists aren't sure, but either way, nowadays we all highlight our hair and forget our natural color.

People with brown or black hair have 110,000 strands, but the computer says that the average person has 100,000 hairs. I used 100,000 because it's easier and I hate math.

Therefore, Jen spent fifty cents a hair.

That's nothing. I can't remember the last thing I bought for fifty cents. Chewing gum costs twenty-five dollars, and sandwiches are a million. Your basic bailout starts at ten billion, and we owe China twenty trillion, so why split hairs?

Sorry.

By the way, the same week that Jen spent $50,000 on her hair, Patriots Quarterback Tom Brady bought a Rolls-Royce Phantom for $405,000.

He also got married to Gisele Bundchen, and I sense that these things are not unrelated. If you're gonna marry Gisele Bundchen, you're not carting her around in a Ford Fiesta.

She's tall.

The news also reported that Tom Brady put a baby seat in the Rolls-Royce, for the child he conceived with the woman whose name he forgot when he met Gisele Bundchen.

But that's not my point.

I'm trying to understand how Tom could spend $405,000 on a car. To be fair, men do love cars. I bet if you asked the average man how much he would pay to drive Gisele Bundchen around in a car, that man would answer, ”Anything.”

So $405,000 is a bargain.

I went online to the Roll-Royce website and learned that the Phantom has four ”coach” doors, which means that the back doors are hinged wrong and open in a counterintuitive way. But they're only $100,000 a door, so it's still cheap.

Also the Phantom has a statuette on the hood, which looks like a Barbie doll with wings. The statuette has a name, ”The Spirit of Ecstasy,” and if you take into consideration that you're getting the car, the Barbie doll, and the p.o.r.nographic name, then $405,000 is more than fair.

Plus the Phantom has a quiet, powerful engine, specifically, ”453 bhp at 5359 rpm and 531 lb/ft 720 Nm at 3500 rpm.” I have no idea what that means, but I bet it translates to five miles a gallon.

So you see where this is going.

Buying a car for $405,000 is as crazy as spending $50,000 on hair, and it brings me to my point: Cars are hair for men.

Conversely, hair is cars for women.

I doubt that a man would spend $50,000 on his hair, and no women I know would spend $405,000 on a car.

Now, here's the hard question: Do men care if women have great hair?

No. If I were a woman who wanted to interest a man, I would take the $50,000 and buy the best b.r.e.a.s.t.s ever.

And do women care if men have great cars?

No. If I were a man who wanted to interest a woman, I would save the money and mow the gra.s.s.

And what have we learned?

The best things in life are free.

Or plastic.

Undergraduate

Little Tony and I just completed our first day of puppy kindergarten, and we flunked.

Of eight puppies, he was the worst in the cla.s.s.

Where did I go wrong?

We were supposed to learn to Sit, but all Little Tony would do was Jump Up. We were supposed to learn Watch Me, but all he did was Watch Everybody Else. When it came to Take It, as in, wait until the command to eat his treat, he skipped the waiting part and went straight to That Tasted Great, Gimme More.

I should have known it would go bad from the beginning, at playtime. How can you flunk playtime? All puppies do is play, chew, and fart.

And he's very good at two of those things.

But at playtime, while all the puppies chased each other in a circle, nosed tennis b.a.l.l.s around, or tugged pull toys, Little Tony sat shaking under my chair, his brown eyes round as marbles. If he was learning Look Terrified, he would have gotten an A plus.

The teacher tells me this will get better, but I'm hard pressed to understand a dog who acts terrified in public and, at home, morphs into Little Tony Soprano.

Oh wait.

Maybe that's human, after all.

It got me thinking that it would be useful if we could send people to puppy kindergarten. How great would it be to have your toddler Sit and Stay For Just Five Minutes?

And everybody wants a husband who can Watch Me. Too many husbands are only good at Watch Basketball. And too many wives are only good at Watch Out.

All most people want is a little attention. If we could just get people to Watch Me, then all manner of acting out could be eliminated. Lindsay Lohan would vanish from the tabloids. Paula Abdul would spontaneously combust.

I'd love to expand the curriculum, too. I wouldn't mind a guy who obeyed Listen To Me. Or better yet, Tell Me I'm Thin. And I'm sure that men can think of a number of commands they'd like women to obey, but I'm guessing that they're unprintable.

Also the teacher at the obedience school told us that it follows the principles of Nothing in Life is Free. They mean this literally. Nothing-in-life-is-free even has its own website, NILIF.com, and ironically you can go visit it, for free.

I grew up hearing that nothing in life is free, but that turned out not to be true. Plenty in life is free. Going for a walk is free. Hugging is free. Money is free, if you're AIG.

Anyway, the bottom line of nothing-in-life-is-free for dogs is that you have to figure out what your puppy loves, and every time before you give it to him, you have to make him do something you want, like sit, stay, or please G.o.d stop having accidents all over the rug.

It seems kind of hardcore, for a puppy whose black-and-tan coat makes him look like a Reese's Peanut b.u.t.ter Cup with legs.

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