I've always believed that I would ward off most of the afflictions of old age. I have vowed to keep a careful eye on my 32" waistline to ensure that I never grow a gut. I have been exercising mightily to make myself buff and to avoid those problems of middle-aged couch potatoes. I don't go for those all-over body tans to keep my skin from rotting off my bones. I try to avoid activities that may result in long-term problems, such a cutting through my spine with a hacksaw. That would have been fun, too...
Over all, my body has rewarded me for me care. Sure, at 27, that's not much of an accomplishment, but I am damn determined to hold that line. I currently have no chronic injuries or disabilities. My blood pressure is perfectly average and my cholesterol was 137 the last time I had it checked. I'm 5-feet, 10-inches tall and weigh 170 pounds. God knows that I don't have any STD's. Then there's my hair. My thick, semi-curly, sort-of-pain-in-the-ass hair.
And that is the Achilles Heel. I have to come with the dark, cold realization that I am slowly, surely going bald. There's no denying it. Casual observers may not be able to tell, but I sure can. I never used to be able to see my scalp at all. Now I can see little slivers of pink through my dark blond locks.
It's not the notorious male pattern baldness, thank God. There's no hole in the ozone layer on the north pole of my head. It's just slowly receding like a glacier around the corners of my forehead. It could definitely be worse. Many of my friends have been total chrome domes for years...but many more are not. After all, I'm almost 30. That's not a bad run. I had my hair throughout what should have been my happy years. I'll probably progress like Tom Hanks. I can live with that...I guess.
I've always been afraid of going bald, but I never thought it would happen to me. After all, my dad isn't bald, although all of his brothers are. My maternal grandfather also isn't bald at all, and he's, like, a million years old. So much for that bullshit about it coming from the mom's side.
What the hell difference does it make, anyway? It's not like I could possibly score LESS!! I should be thankful! My hair has been a bane of my existence since it changed from curly shining gold when I was young to a thick, wavy dirty blond that did whatever the hell it wanted. It sucks, and it's getting what it deserves for making my life difficult! Friggin' hair! Now I can save money on combs, haircuts, hair gel... Yep. That'll be cool.
The few friends in whom I've confided this sad truth have responded in completely unexpected ways. One of my female friends, a rather easy chick who's screwed everybody but me, went into denial, saying that I was fooling myself. Oooookay. I would expect that response to someone whose head looked like a bowling ball, and they thought they still had a full head of hair. In response to someone who says, "You know, I think I might be finally going bald," it's a little weird. I never expected her to be in denial about it. Then I confided in my 6'1", blond, muscle-bound, gets-all-the-chicks, ex-marine-reservist. He was quite sympathetic. I was even more stunned.
Christ, I thought I KNEW my friends! I had steeled myself for the most evil of jeers, and what do I get? Denial and sympathy! Certainly, such barbs would not be made out of malice, but we never pass up the chance for some good-natured ribbing on each other. Maybe they feared harming my ego at the loss of my beloved hair. I can hack it, though. The real tragedy is that my head is too big to fit in most hats, and my brain might freeze. Chicks certainly won't tell the difference.
My hair...my luxurious hair...
