For years, my wife has teased me about having thinning hair. My daughter has teased that my pillow is the hairy one on the bed. Yes, my hair is a washed-out gray color of old paving, but at least I have lots of it for samples. This was patently untrue. This summer on a family vacation a bunch of us got into a long harangue about whether baldness was handed down from which grandparent and who had it and what was therefore proof of who in our family was doomed. I think I deliberately let myself get confused following the heredity argument so that I wouldn’t have to know. It should have been a clue.
Tonight I looked in the hotel mirror and see – cripes! – that through the front where I put in that Aveda floral gel juice stuff to curl it, I can indeed see twinges of my scalp. Damn! First I turn 50 (well, a year ago) and then everything goes to hell. And now this on top of it. One more prop to my oversized ego crashes down in cinders. Sigh.