I have a problem. I’ll admit it.

I’m obsessed with hairlines. More specifically, widow’s peaks.

Let me explain.

A friend of mine pointed out that he had a widow’s peak. I had never heard of the phrase, and didn’t really know what it was. Apparently, I’d been living under a rock.

The best way to describe it is the little dip the hairline makes in the center of one’s forehead. I’m sure Websters could provide better details.

Since learning about a widow’s peak, I can’t stop noticing them. Kind of like when you buy a new car, you begin to notice every car of the same make and model that passes you on the streets.

Check out Leann Rimes photo. She has one.

The morning news reporter has a widow’s peak. And I’ve watched her for months.

A friend of mine in Georgia has one, too. I’m envious.

I went to my sister’s house to visit my new baby nephew. He’s adorable. Yet, I found myself telling my sis, “You have a widow’s peak!” Oh, yeah, and Jackson is a cutie.

The guy at Starbucks has one. So, does the girl working the register where I get my clothes dry-cleaned.

And my neighbor.

If you catch me staring, it’s not you. It’s your cool hairline.

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