At some point during the past 15 years, I promised Kellie that I would grow my hair to any length she desired after I retired from the Navy. It's now been fourteen months since I left the service, and I look more like a Columbian drug lord than a retired submarine captain. When we’re traveling abroad, people no long instantly peg me as an American. So far I’ve been mistaken for a Brazilian, a Mexican, a Puerto Rican, and a woman.
I have no illusions about why Kellie wants me to grow my hair. She’s trying to make me look like her boyfriend. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do with my hair that will cause anyone to mistake me for Johnny Depp.
I have no illusions about why Kellie wants me to grow my hair. She’s trying to make me look like her boyfriend. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do with my hair that will cause anyone to mistake me for Johnny Depp.
A few years ago, she told me that I might get a little more action if she didn’t have to expend so much mental energy conjuring up the image of Johnny. I recalled that Kellie once mentioned that her gynecologist hangs pictures of male celebrities above his examining room table (creepy). But given his area of expertise, I figured that he might be on to something. For Christmas, I gave her a large poster of the January, 2009, cover of Rolling Stone magazine featuring Johnny Depp. I’m not sure how the poster ended up next to the washer and dryer, I thought the only thing Kellie did in there was laundry. It may be time for me to go Michelangelo on that poster.
