Matchstick Man

My imagination and love for experimentation have never failed me until last night.  I have always watched in awe as my mom and sister splattered their heads with the stool-like batter of dried leaves and water called "7ennah".  The pungent odor of horse manure has always kept a distance between me and those desperate females trying to impress their mate by any means possible.  I don't know if it was the cumulative tire of a long week's work that led me to take that decision or if it was mere curiosity.  Yes, I did, I have tried 7ennah for the first time in my life.  I slowly came to my senses as my sister, the accomplice in this dredged act, slowly smudged the batter on my head.  Voila! All done.  After an agonizing two hours of slime dripping on my neck and down my t-shirt, it was time to wash it off.  The mess i created in the shower was the least of my worries.  I watched slowly as the clusters of dried 7ennah washed down the drain taking my sanity with them.  I did not even dare to take a look at my self in the bathroom mirror.  After I have fully dried my hair it was time to reap the fruit of my wrongdoing.  Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the matchstick man.  I looked like a 50 year old Pakistani tailor in Ahmed Al Jaber street.  I did not care about the added volume of my hair, about the nutrients and minerals that have fortified my hair roots.  All I cared about was my self image that has been scarred for the next couple of weeks or perhaps more.  The act has been done and cannot be changed.  I ask for your mercy and for my dignity's forgiveness.