So, I'm walking through the den one saturday morning. My daughter points at me and says, "Hey, what's that bald spot on your head?"
The child is given to outbursts of dubious propriety, so by itself, this really meant nothing. My wonderful wife, however, was sitting on the couch at the time and instantly burst into raucous laughter. I mean she held her stomach, she gasped, she convulsed. The woman very nearly fell on the floor she was laughing so hard. Again, by itself, this wouldn't mean so much. Perhaps she has an impaired sense of humor. But, there's more.
For some years now, I've harbored a deep suspicion that my forehead was growing. The first time I noticed that something may be amiss, I think I was getting out of the shower and left my wet hair slicked back and accidentally saw myself in the mirror. "Hmm. That doesn't look right." Now, I can't recall if I went straight to my wife for an objective opinion that first time. But, the seed of doubt was planted. Over the next couple of years I would go many times to my trusted life partner, holding back my hair, thusly,
... and saying, "See here. The genetically inevitable calamity has begun. Woe is me." (My actual words may have been less dramatic and more panicked, like, "Honey! Honey, look. My hair!") But, no, she reassured me, nothing has changed. Time after time she told me that it's the same as it ever was. And, "You're being silly." ... It was an easy sell, really. That's what I wanted, desperately, to believe.
But, on that fateful Saturday morning, when my daughter asked about "the bald spot" and my wife laughed until she cried, then! then was the truth laid bare!
O, thou treacherous woman.
Now, here's the kicker. After this episode, which immediately set off a fresh round of close forehead inspections on my part, my darling wife actually had the gall to try to keep up her ruse. She said, it was just the funny look on my face at the time that caused her to be so amused. Just how gullible are men, anyways? I suppose one must consider that she may merely have been trying to forestall some sort of mid-life crisis. One might then take her deception as an act of kindness. (I don't.)
But, I admit, I'm not exactly Mr. Clean. Yet. There might still be room for argument. But, I can't go on that way. The matter must be settled. That way I can at least gripe about the (thankfully) glacial expansion of my forehead without being called silly. So, I'm on the case. With a renewed sense of certainty, the forehead inspections finally turn up the smoking gun. No more quibbling; no more looking for old pictures. I spotted the Lonely Hair.
Clearly, the hair on one's head all grows thickly together. Ah, but that's not necessarily the way it falls out. One by one, the little guys finally succumb to the ravages of time and go up to the floor of that great barbershop in the sky.
Looking at the Lonely Hair, once surrounded by comrades and now a good quarter of an inch away from his nearest fellow, we can say with certainty that IT has begun.
Hang in there little buddy. Hang on!!baldness