Bald. Since 2001.
I’m not aging well. This thought usually occurs to middle age men as they examine their receding hairline in the store windows just before they purchase the red convertible they’ll sell exactly one year later. However, this thought has been on my mind since I was nineteen – not because I’m particularly vain; but because that’s about the time the hair follicles on my scalp decided to close up shop. This fact alone doesn’t necessarily bother me, and I honestly don’t get up in the morning and think “another bald day.” However, it’s hard to forget when I’ve had a steady stream of onlookers who feel the need to comment on the situation atop my head on a near hourly basis.
It’s amazing how little decorum people observe when it comes to this subject. Obesity? Wouldn’t dare. Acne? Never noticed it. But the second a bald guy walks in the room everyone is immediately free to comment on the one malady that has apparently been deemed socially acceptable for dinner conversation.
