I have a confession to make. I think I’m on the road to bald. And, no, that’s not a town in Idaho. I’m talking losing my hair in generous clumps, could make a freaking sweater balding. It all started after the birth of my daughter two years ago, eased up when I was pregnant last year, and is obviously in turbo drive four months postpartum.
My once thick, luscious long locks are starting to look like what’s left on a doll’s head after a dog has been gnawing on it. And I’m not happy. I’m pissed. Angry. Upset. Whining, yes I am. I want hair. Good hair.
But I guess there are worse things in life, right? I mean I could be losing my eyesight or hearing. Hair is, hair. There are options. Wigs. That’s an option! Dolly Parton is one sexy wig-wearing woman! Now, if I could grow the boohoolas to accompany such a wig…I would have back issues, for sure.
Hats! Yet, another option. I have lots of hats. Baseball caps. Leather berets. Straw fedoras. Bandanas. Pantyhose. You have done that before, haven’t you? Yanked pantyhose down over your head and pulled up on one end? It’s the quickest way to look like your face is pressed against a glass windshield. I practically pissed my pants one time doing this as a kid.
Wait. We’re talking hair. Options. Tattooing! If Mike Tyson can do it, so can I. Just call me Tigress. Actually, if I did tattoo my head I would have STOP! written on one side and STARING ASSHOLE! written on the other. I’d include the exclamation points because I’m also a Grammar Diva.
People who stare at bald women are assholes. These women could very well be fighting for their lives; silently struggling to overcome cancer and push through the effects of chemotherapy. They didn’t ask to lose their hair. So don’t stare! Or I’ll call you an asshole, snap a picture, and post it here on the blog.
Which reminds me, losing my hair to hormones and complaining about it is superfluous and selfish. To the women bravely losing your hair as you’re fighting to keep your lives, you are the real Tigresses.
So, yeah. I’m losing my hair, but it could be worse. What’s your Tuesday Confession?