Trimmings

I've reached a bit of a crossroads in my life. You see, I have male pattern baldness. I also have male pattern ignorance, but that's for another blog. I'd love to blame someone, but my mom's dad was such a sweet soul and he and I got along famously. But the topographical chart of my hair is identical to what his was at this point in his life.

The problem is that as my hair has gotten progressively thinner, it has become less manageable. Also, I've found that silver hair (I don't have gray hair) doesn't stay where you put it like brown hair. The result is that I more and more wear a ballcap to keep from having people stare and point at me.

What I'm leaning toward is having the stylist put a quarter-inch attachment on the clippers and attack the whole head, army-style. The only thing keeping me from doing this the reaction I'll get from family members and friends. I'm not sure I can handle a lot of negative criticism on this. If they universally hated it, all I could say in return would be a feeble, "It'll grow back", while having a failed smile on my face.

But for ease and convenience, this would be worth it. No more trying to coerce cooperation from unwilling strands or worry that I'[ve reached the comb-over stage. Isn't a comb-over the most transparently sad move a man can make? Doesn't it look silly when the wind blows it upright like a row of cornstalks? I never want a comb-over!

Today, I'm going back to Kristi, a stylist who usually cuts my hair but whom I've somehow missed for the past few months. If she can do her usual magic and leave me with a decent haircut, one that leaves me a fighting chance, I'll postpone the army cut. But if this fails, I'm putting on the fatigues and going to war with all this follicle frivolity.