Perhaps my age is beginning to show. I can already feel the eyes staring at me when they don’t think I am looking. I can almost see the little smug smiles and conspiratorial nods when I turn my back.
And I know what I thought I saw on Friday in the mirror!
What I know for sure is that only this weekend, my trusty barber Fidel, agreed with me for the first time that there was evidence of…of……….OF ……………..Oh God! HOW CAN I BRING MYSELF TO SAY THE WORD?…
(There, I have said it). ( 😦 I think I need a hug 😦 )
Right there, on the crown of my head!
Fidel claimed it is only mild and recommended that I brush my pompadour well back to keep it invisible.
Doesn’t this sound horrifyingly like that sure sign of sad-old-manistic behaviour…THE DREADED COMB-OVER!!!!?
Fidel said that there was nothing that could be done with potions or lotions! He said that I should make sure not to have my hair cut too short on the top from now on! He said if it got worse then he could recommend a few things but nothing was truly effective!
HOW COULD THIS BE HAPPENING TO ME! I am only 45 for pity’s sake!
My maternal grandfather had a full head of hair until his dying day so it could not be genetic. It must be something I am eating. Then it struck me…
I love a hot shower. Very hot. Luxuriating in a hot shower is one of my unguilty pleasures.
I googled “Does a hot shower cause baldness?”
It is perhaps a little disturbing that 194 000 relevant responses appeared, but I am now firmly convinced that my obviously premature “mild thinning” is nothing to do with my genes or encroaching old age, but because I have been broiling the top of my head on a daily basis for 40 or so years.
I am certain that if I now start showering with the showerhead well away from the, shall we say, “less luxuriant” part of my head then the issue will resolve itself and my flowing locks will continue to be the envy of men and women alike.
As I sat in that barber’s chair, my life in ruins, old age staring at me through the void, Fidel chatted away about his football team and added insult to injury by pruning, without even being asked, my nose hairs which now seem to be replacing the hairs on my scalp at an alarming rate!
At last, the torture was over and Fidel skipped athletically away to retrieve the mirror. He held it over the top of my head and I looked into the glass darkly…
I could not, I told myself, see any bald patch.
I could not, I told myself, even see a glimpse of pink through the neatly arranged tresses.
Perhaps Fidel was playing a naughty trick!
“Anyway,” said Fidel
“You are quite tall so most people cannot see the top of your head” he told me reassuringly.