A Medical Procedure

After some deliberation, I decide to have my head surgically removed, even though the procedure is not covered by my insurance plan.

At my first public outing with my new look, public reactions range from stunned silence to aggressive indifference.

A woman I know vaguely from weary laps around social circles nibbles on her greasy samosa and compliments me on my summer get-up.

I discover that, even without a head, it is still possible to nod with rapt interest at what someone else is saying. I use my hands to indicate my sympathies, shock, dismay – a full canopy of emotions under which we both seek shelter from the awkwardness of staring vacantly in a corner.

Two drawbacks: One, I can’t laugh, which I make up for by slapping my knee and rocking my upper body backwards in my chair. Two, I can’t kiss, but I find that lightly pressing and twisting the recipient’s lips together between my thumb and index finger is an acceptable substitute.