The Day I Went Bald

By

George Wilder Jr.

A few years ago on my wedding night, I was getting ready to say good night to my lovely and wonderful wife. However, that is when I decided to take one last trek for the night into the bathroom, dressed only in purple pajamas, just to gargle my mouth out. I knew I'd be doing some smooching later on. Also, I wanted to drive a comb all through my precious and wonderful wet looking laid back hair. And I did. I had always loved and adored my bronzed locks. In other words, my hair was my world. While in the bathroom, I immediately discovered that something was not right when I stared at myself in the mirror.

I found at least two terrible looking emerging imperfections. They made me gulp three times. I counted them. One of those mean looking imperfections was on the top of my noggin in full view and the other was lingering on the rear of my head. It took an additional mirror to find that one. I immediately began to feel something up there literally recede. I saw globs of hair in and on the comb. That is when I started to burn up all inside. I silently panicked and suddenly I muted my cries for help. I thought about my wife in the next room. But I couldn't stop the steady flow of raw tears and sweat. I decided not to comb my hair anymore. Also, I decided not to go and jump in the lake that night. My hair was coming out on a fast track.

My name is George Wilder Jr., I'm a middle aged clean-cut professional. I had always thought that professionals were supposed to have an entire head of good hair. Was I wrong?

Meanwhile, still in shock over my pending appearance, I was looking at a different world. I don't want lose my hair. As far as I was concern, my life was completely over. I immediately and quietly closed the bathroom door because I didn't want my wife to hear me scream my brains out. Dejectedly, I sat down on the close toilet seat and soon, sadly, buried my face into my hands. How could I show myself? I also thought about my wife. Will she still want me. I'm sure my wife heard me shut the door, no matter how quietly I tried to be. The house was just about paper thin.

But soon I realize that I truly didn't want to cease to exist. I just wanted to cry and feel sorry for myself. I was actually looking around for someone to blame for my monumental problem. As for the moment, I didn't want to show my face and maybe the state of my hairline. I began to think. Here I was walking around all this time meeting and greeting so many people, and no one told me that I was losing my hair and that I was going to be bald.

I moved closer to the mirror. I knew that more excessive whining was not going to make my hair magically reappear. I turned off the tears as if they were water faucets gushing profusely. I sat back down and dropped my head once again. And I went blank once more. Suddenly I quickly bounce up and shoved my over mug back into the mirror, ran my fingers over the bald spots moaning and groaning like a sick goat. It was no dream. Oh my God, this was real. A nightmare that had came alive, as far as I was concern.

I was actually witnessing my own hair receding in right in front of my icy bronze eyes. They were now stone cold dead. My wife began to call for me from the bedroom. I didn't want to leave the bathroom; however, I knew I couldn't live there. I now lay frozen next to my lovely wife, Samantha. I called her Sam. She was wearing a pink grown, I purchased for her for our wedding night. Sam leaped on top of me. As soon as she came up for air, my lips managed to start moving.

"I have known you for almost two years, Sam. Why didn't you tell me I was going bald?"

"What?" she asked beaming at me.

"I have at least two growing bald spots that I found, there might more, I don't know," I said with a hole in my stomach.

"George, I love you, and we all knew you were balding. We just didn't care. You are a good man."

"Everybody knew but me!!" I shouted, as if I didn't now know that.

"I love you and your receding hairline, bald spots and all. I'm your wife."

She then gave me a big wifely smile.

"What am I going to do?"

"Live your life, George."

I did my best in the lovemaking department for that night; my heart just wasn't in it. I was not feeling good at all. Sam was fast asleep. I was still feeling a bit apprehensive that my gut was beginning boil, just think about my former hair. I was becoming depressed. I felt like nothing. My boyish looks were fading fast.

I was determined to make the best of what small amount of hair I had left. The following week, I had gone to one of the CVS stores that now saturated the area and purchased some processed wave hair care cream and other ingredients for my continuing receding hairline. I wanted to try and slick back what I had left and then comb some of the remaining hair up from the sides of my head to the top. I needed to try and completely camouflage my massively growing bald spots. Those monstrous signs of aging.

The next day I went to work with my new slick back hair-do. I could hear co-workers and other snickering with their many catcalls over my head. Most of my former friends were up in arms about my new look. They just couldn't stop laughing. When Sam found out what I did with the balance of the hair I had left, she wasted no time telling me how much she hated it. In a large way, I agreed with her. It was awful. I looked even more foolish. I had to think of something else. Therefore, I got rid of the glossy waves.

I started reaching for community directories looking for hair restoration clinics. They were plentiful. However, I chose not to deal with any of them. I quickly, but reluctantly, up gave on my last option. For many reasons. Meanwhile, I sat around the house on some days all alone. I decided to comb my hair again. There was more hair on the comb and in my hand than before. My wife always gave me her full support at whatever I decided to do about my hair dilemma. However, she would always voice her approval or disapproval. I could swear sometimes I'd hear her laughing like a cow at my current situation.

My head was now starting to look as if the birds had been plucking from it. I needed to

do something fast. But what? Over the next few days, I continued to beat my brains out in trying to find a real solution to this receding hairline. I felt my look would be forever lost.

"Stop worrying about your hair, George. I will never leave you and you have many friends."

If they were friends, they would have told me I that was balding.

A day later, I walked into our house late that same evening with my brand new look and proceeded directly into the bedroom where Sam was sitting on the bed knitting a colorful sweater. She peered up and over at me and zeroed in on my new appearance, saw the change, and nodded her approval. Suddenly she really responded.

"I love it. I really love it. I really like what you have done. Please stay that way. You are even more handsome than before!"

"I bet."

I had completely shaven my entire head. I shined on top like a crystal ball. All my hair was now history. I didn't have to worry anymore about those nagging birds. And I was very ecstatic that Sam really loved what I had done. She was really and truly proud of me. I think. I soon walked out the house to go and have some quality pictures taken.

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