My darling, dearest, and bestest friend found some old pictures of me/us from long ago, and posted them for all to see. She did this without alerting me, of course, so when I saw them I spit iced tea *unsweetened with a lot of ice* out my nose and splayed across my computer monitor.
Oh dear god! I had such luxurious hair back then; it was long, curly, shiney. I was a frigging commercial for Breck, for god's sake. Even with the dual-drink-holder-with-straws helmut I wore in those fine photographic moments of excellence, my hair was fucking fantastic.
I'm going bald. It's true. It's really happening to me and I need to get a grip before I wake up 15 years from now looking like a wet, newborn bird. And to think, back then I thought I had three long hairs tightly wound around my skull; serving as coverage rather than luxury. Oh how wicked is the reality of life...I mean really?
Of course, I can't reflect on my balding without laughing about NutBallPaul (NBP). A *ahem* man *giggle, giggle* (give me a minute, I can't type, I'm laughing at the description and classification of 'man' in relation to NBP) whom I very briefly dated.
Okay, I'm composed.
He was disheartened that despite his attempts to convince me otherwise we would no longer be dating - because he was PSYCHO. So, what was he left to do?
Curse me to go bald.
I'm not kidding! You should have seen him when he did it. He stammered, stuttered, sputtered, got all red and clammy looking in the face until he finally burst out in exclamation, 'Fine! Then! I! Curse! You! To! Go! Bald! Bitch!'
My reaction...
With a straight face, I sauntered up to him, and said, 'At least I can put a wig on, but there's not a goddamn thing you can do about your teeny weeny peeny or that gigantic windshield of a forehead you're holding up on that scrawny neck of yours.'
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