The clown sat there, a plaintive look on his plain face.

The ineffable feelings he had been feeling the whole day as he sat there solidified into one final thought: I need hair. For all of the make-up he put on his face, for all of the dresses and assorted costumes he had in his closet, nothing could make up for the glaring bald spot on the morose clown's head. A very large bald spot. In fact, the clown could be described as "one with a paucity of hair." Nowadays the term is bald. It was for this reason that the clown sat on his chair, wondering what he could possibly do to remedy the situation. He knew that he was born to be a clown. In fact, his own mother laughed uproariously when she first saw him. He had dedicated his life to this idea, and he wasnt about to give up now. As he sat there, the clock rang, reminding him that the performance would begin in five minutes. Hastily, he dashed to the mirror to make sure that all of the make-up was applied correctly. Having done so, the experienced, middle-age clown trotted to the gate, ready to perform his role in the wonderful circus. At the next gong, the whole procession started off into the ring. There stood the ringmaster in the center, all straight and in control. The clown knew today was his day. The elephants were stepping lively, glad to be performing in the ring once more. The dancers were twirling around and around, ever so gracefully, sure that they were the main attraction. But it was the clown, our bald, middle-aged clown, who felt all of the eyes on him. And he knew that it was because of the wig. The wig was a beaut! Died in all different, assorted, and variety of colors, the wig fit right into the clown's painted face. The wig looked splendid. The clown, however, cringed inwardly and hunched over outwardly, eager for the crucible to end. He felt that all eyes were on him. Even the noble-looking ringmaster, with his waxed mustache, seemed to be laughing at him, not with him. All of those excited cries, all the whispers were directed at him. He was surrounded by people who knew what he truly was: a middle-aged bald man.

The idea that he had come up with and that had seemed so good just fifteen minutes ago was coming back to haunt him. The clown had no choice; breaking formation, he rushed to the exit and out of the huge tent and into the blinding sun. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. However, the relief he felt, not having all of those stares on him, was indescribable. It had been one of the worst moments of his life. Sighing, the clown took a seat on a bench a bit of a distance away from the main tent at the circus. Around him, the sun was shining brightly, and the birds were expressing their overwhelming gratitude. Far away, a young child meandered along, taking a look at all of the fascinating sights one can always find at a booming circus. As the bees droned on, buzzing along in an incessant noise, the poor middle-aged clown was asleep, his head nodding onto his chest, his wig slipping along as he nodded.

The clown woke up slowly, dragging his unwilling senses into the bright light of the sunshine. The heat overwhelmed his eyes, so he kept them closed, attempting to will himself back into the sleep he had so recently been enveloped in. As he endeavored to do this, a clear, bell-like voice burst into his bubble of solitude. Opening his eyes, and quickly closing them again due to the sun, he glimpsed the young girl, who had been taking in the sights while he took his beauty sleep. "How long have you been watching me?" muttered the clown, annoyed that he had been jostled out of his sleep. Spontaneously, the young girl burst into laughter, only stopping when she saw the expression on his face. The clown, realizing what had occurred, had almost started to cry. Although he tried to keep the tears off his face, they came down anyway, first slowly, and then quickly, with no break in between. Inexplicably, the girl just laughed louder. After a few seconds, she couldnt help herself, and found herself giggling helplessly on the floor. Oh, what a picture! The middle-age clown, with his bald

head and make-up smeared by the tears, sitting on the bench and crying his heart out, while the young girl laughed on and on, holding her stomach in pain. After a few moments of this strange, strange scene, the girl sat up, still smiling. The clown remained hunched over, tears still rolling down his face. "I'm sorry," the young girl apologized, "but you're just so funny!" The clown glanced up, startled out of his depressed state. He just wasn't sure what she meant. But considering it, he realized that she must have been laughing at him. He hung his head down in shame. "When did you become a clown?" asked the young girl, "You're so good at it!" At these first words of kindness that he had heard in a long while, the clown looked up in surprise. Nobody had said anything to him like that since, well...for a very long time. No, that's not true. He just hadn't believed anyone who had ever told him this before. "Your makeup- its perfect!" the young girl added. "And your costume-it looks amazing!" It does? asked the confused clown. But dont you notice anything me? Yes! the young girl answered, Youre an amazing clown! But my head!? the clown almost shouted, Just look at my head! What about it? the young girl asked. Havent you figured it out yet? Im bald! asked the confused clown. Oh, said the young girl, I didnt notice that.