Well, it was bound to happen, right on schedule from what I'm told. I was combing my hair after my shower when three hairs floated to the floor. A little later Nancy found five or six more hairs, so there's no denying the inevitable. Nancy promises she won't leave me when I go bald. We'll see. I'm trying to decide what kind of wig to get. There's the prosperous old guy look - longish silver hair perfectly styled, wavy, maybe with a small ponytail. But then I'd have to dress nicely, maybe even wear a cravat. Not my style. There's the Tom Brady look. After all, to quote Rex Ryan, we're both married to supermodels. But after what the Patriots did two weeks ago, I don't think I could do it. (An aside: shortly before that unbelievable playoff loss to the Jets I bought pajama bottoms with the Patriots logo, official NFL gear no less. Of course it was on sale. But, did I curse the Pats? It's too awful to think about. I don't wear the pajamas any more, may burn them in a small purification ceremony.) But back to the wig. I could get a mullet, but then my kids would never speak to me again. A mohawk would probably be the easiest, should be the cheapest, but then no one would ever speak to me again, except maybe my grandson. Maybe I should just stick to a baseball cap. Funny thing is, I've wanted to shave my head for a long time to save a bit of time in the morning, but was prevented from doing so by the very woman who promises not to leave me now. Go figure.
I'm still feeling good, hardly coughing at all. Lots of energy. Going to enjoy it while I can.
One last thought. There's a scandalous story my older sister tells about how, when we were kids, I would suck on root beer barrels, which I loved and she hated, and then blow the smell into her face. Now anyone who knows me knows I would never do anything like that. Well, yesterday a package came in the mail from my niece, her daughter. It contained four bags of root beer barrels! Can I never end this slander?
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