For those of you who don’t know me–which at this early of stage of the blog is probably none of you—I am bald. My hair isn’t thinning, it’s gone. Sure I have what I like to dub “the old man ring”, but it ain’t much. Hell, the only combover I can pull off is with my ear hair.
SN: Why is it that us bald men can grow hair everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE, but the one place we want to?
I’m cool with it. My wife met me when my hair was already seriously thin, so no biggie there; and my coworkers all know me as the short, chubby, bald guy; it’s all good.
I have a confession to make: I used to think my wife was crazy. Not lock her up and throw away the key crazy. More like, “why the hell are you freaking out” crazy.
Allow me to elaborate. Many times when I’m chewing gum, or drinking out of a straw, or simply clicking a pen, my wife will – out of nowhere – ask me to stop.
Asking might not be the right term, more like suddenly shouting. For years I would just laugh and continue on with what I was doing, I mean come on, that’s crazy.