A later mid-life quandary.
Minor panic ensued in the shower recently. I was washing my hair and happened to notice that several of my lustrous tresses had matted, abandoned my head and were now lying forlornly near my feet. Ordinarily, I would have paid little attention to it, but I’ve been in a bit of a funk of late, in part due to my not working at the moment and money being a bit tight. So, rather than ignoring it, I gloomily assumed that this presaged the beginning of a mass hair exodus.
I’d hardly finished considering the depressing idea of impending baldness, when my thoughts darted off in another direction. Would I rather have a full head of hair or win the Lotto, but on the proviso that in order to secure the money, I had to sacrifice my precious locks to a whim of a spiteful Mother Nature? As I vigorously soaped and then robustly rinsed off the remaining still less hirsute sections of myself, I grappled with the complexities of this improbable dilemma.
On the one hand I pondered, numerous friends and acquaintances, some much younger than me, seem to have dealt with the trauma of hair loss and still lead a purposeful existence. But on the other, I clearly lack both the character and resilience to do likewise.
My train of thought took another sudden turn. I’d no longer need to visit the barber’s, so I’d be minted and also save money at the same time. How bitterly ironic! Exiting the shower, I set about drying my uniquely toned, middle-aged frame, whilst still trying to resolve this most unlikely but self-inflicted quandary. I took a deep breath then marvelled at my chiselled good looks in the bathroom cabinet mirror, picturing them bereft of their glorious thatch.
I eventually concluded that all things considered, financial security would win, and if push came to shove, I’d take the hairline hit and grab the filthy lucre. After all, I reasoned, I would then be able to easily afford some form of fancy hair-loss treatment, that might actually usefully repurpose some of the unnecessary, wispy nonsense that is now sprouting up in some frankly pointless places about my person. A win-win, having my cake and eating it situation, surely?
The only downside I could foresee was that any jealous, baldy detractors might then refer to me as something along the lines of “Mr bum-crack hair head” behind my back. However, I concluded that whilst I am a clearly a very shallow, vain and avaricious man, this would be a price worth paying.
Having successfully dealt with this crisis, I pulled on my pants and set about hoovering the house with a renewed sense of optimism.