People tell me I look good bald. I'll accept that, but it's not my preferred look. I liked my waist length blonde hair. It was a terrific way for me to express my moods, flirt, be sensual, be casual, whatever. I liked the way it looked and the message it sent.
Because, see, bald is the wrong cultural messaging for me. I'm not a biker, I'm not a skinhead, I'm not a hipster. I'm a guy who is happy to show off his non-receding hairline and lack of male pattern baldness. I'm a guy who likes having his hair stroked and played with. Hard to do that with no hair.
And I was very much reminded of this as I traveled yesterday. I mean, these days I look like a plastic Jesus left on the dashboard to melt. I'm still thinner-than-looks-right in the face from the chemo weight loss. I have a wispy white beard that would embarrass a corpse, because all the blonde and brown and gray fell out, but the white stuck around. And I am bowling ball bald still. I can't smile and do the hair flip. I suspect I just look creepy when I try.
I want my hair back.
(This whiny-ass rant brought to you by a day of travel and self-reflection.)