The only reason you could say I have bangs at 5 a.m. is that my hair seems to have exploded overnight.

I frequently awaken with morning hair that looks like I'm standing in the middle of a class five hurricane in zero gravity with coffee-chugging monkeys using bent gardening trowels and previously-owned chopsticks to unlock my head.

If morning were a play, my hair wouldn't get the part.

My part, in fact, could use a GPS system to find its way across my head.

Every morning my hair plays head games with me and we both lose.

So why in the world are there guys in the world spending hundreds of dollars a year to achieve the same effect?

I can't wait to get in the shower or put a hat on my head after turning on the lights in the morning.

That my wife not only still loves me but also doesn't burst out laughing every morning remains a mysterious miracle to me.

How can she take me seriously with morning hair like that?

But there are hair product companies successfully convincing men that women will flock to them in droves if their hair looks like mine all day long.

Why didn't I think of that?

Speaking of flocks, seagulls could have an oyster festival in my hair and that would be an improvement over what I see in the mirror every morning through all the duct tape where I've repaired the mirror's daily cracks.

Oh, look, another un-wisecrack:

My hair isn't all that it's cracked up to be (I tried to warn you).

So I have to laugh-no, really, I read the fine print and I have to-when I see ads in magazines for such hair products and some guy looking into the mirror actually impressed to see his hair sticking up and out in all directions like he shoved his fork in a toaster.

Or the same guy, different ad, with a head that looks like someone chewed bubblegum in his hair, and very attractive women looking so interested in his hair that I wonder if they are looking for their bubblegum.

I've had bubblegum stuck in my hair and it just doesn't work like that. Bees and flies swarmed around my head, not glamorous models.

So I was convinced this was another case of clever ad agencies playing on our insecurities to make us buy products we wouldn't ordinarily be seen comatose in a ditch with-the Emperor's New Hair-in a sad attempt to respond to the psychological pressures of living in this Modern World.

Mick Jagger was singing much the same song nearly 46 years ago in “(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction.” Yes, it always pays to read what's in the parentheses because the song is not about feeling satisfied.

But then I forced myself to be objective, which means I contemplated what kind of twist this stream of consciousness might take, and realized the makers of those hair products are compassionate geniuses who should receive some kind of Nobel Prize, or noble blue ribbon, for giving men like me a way to compensate for bad hair daze.

Voila!

By intentionally making our hair look like “morning hair” all day we cleverly enable our significant others to grow accustomed to that bird's nest above our face.

We therefore spare them the shock and hilarity of turning on the lights in the morning after the alarm has torn the silent slumber in two and either shrieking in panic-fear or laughing themselves into apoplexy.

By scrambling our hair intentionally we may enjoy our eggs sunny side up or over easy in the morning.

And some toast, please, with my tea and sympathy.