The letter from the attorney for my father’s estate and trust explained a number of matters in paragraph after paragraph. Then wham: “[your] life expectancy will be 18.6 years.”

Eighteen point 6 years! I better do everything I ever wanted to do. I can no longer overlook getting my affairs in order. I made an appointment with my haircutter. “Can you cut my hair short in the back but leave it long-ish on top?” As a result, I have SHORT hair.

First experiment in these final years of my life is with looking like a man (my father?) or a high powered woman (Christine Lagarde?).

My similarities with Christine Lagarde, besides the hair cut, might start and end with the fact that we both receive monies on a regular basis from a Bretton Woods institution. Christine Lagarde’s letter from her father’s attorney would offer her 31.3 years of life (as a French woman her life expectancy is 3.7 years longer than mine and she is almost exactly 9 years younger than I am). Likely I have more in common with my father, although we now know his life expectancy exceeded what the IRS expected by 24.65 years. If those are the tables my Bretton Woods institution uses, my genetic heritage may upset the pension fund calculations.

So how many more hair cuts do I have time for? Send in your suggestions for other models, but note that I’m over Lady Di. Also there is the matter of supply. So far I have enough hair to cut, but my life supply of hair is a further unknown.