I got my hair cut over lunch today. Scott, my barber, seems to labor under the idea that I still somehow think I might not be losing my hair. Indeed, the bulk of the hair loss is actually behind me. I might not have a shiny slick scalp onto which people can stick playing cards to have the sweat hold them in place, but it's thin enough that one can only see that there actually is (blond)hair there if they are right on top of my head, touching it with their hand. I am bald. I have accepted this undeniable fact, and that's okay. I like the way I look.
But Scott was doing his thing this morning, and he was trying to very gingerly treat the fine, soft hair remnants on my scalp, so as not to agitate them all into jumping off my head at once. Finally, I think he was tired of skirting the issue, he said, "Do you want me to cut these long fine ones on your scalp?" I responded.
"Yes. Please just make them the same length as the rest. I know what I am."