I'm losing my hair?!? –

I’m losing my hair?!?

I’m not sure how the conversation started, exactly. I must have made some off handed remark referencing what I assumed was obvious. So obvious that it wasn’t nearly profound enough to even recall. But, for my husband, it was a moment he’ll never forget.
Are you saying I’m losing my hair???
I laughed, first sincerely and then nervously.
Um, yes…?
Wait. WHAT??? Do, people, like, know this?
I thought back to the time last week, when, at a crowded park and I needed to point him out, it was by easiest done by referencing the bald spot staring staring my friend and I back like a neon sign.
Well, it’s not something that people, like, talk about.
But, they can tell? His eyes were wide like saucers. Other people can tell that I’m losing it?
I think so, Jeff. It’s not really open for interpretation.
A full haired actor flashed on the TV screen.
So, I don’t have as much hair as him?
Um, no, my love.
Another full haired, six pack abed actor appears. What about him??
No, sweetheart. Not much of a resemblance.
But, it’s not like I’m BALDING, right? I just have some thinning. Like, ten percent.
OK. Sure. SNL was well into the second music act and the dog would be up in six hours. You’re right.
No??? I’m not?
He’s sitting up now.
What’s the ratio? What’s the ratio of hair to no hair?
I prop up the pillow and inspect him.
Hmmmmm…. 40/60?
Forty/Sixty? FORTY/SIXTY? Like less hair than more hair???
No. You’re wrong. His head is shaking violently.
It’s just that my hair starts further back on my forehead. It’s still there!
I point to the spot halfway back on my head where my hair would start if I were balding and if I had a severe receding hairline.
He’s not buying it.
I take his hand and finger measure the spots on our respective heads.
We’re staring at each other, hands on heads, the air uncomfortably heavy.
He stops arguing. I’ve finally gotten through to him.
Don’t you look in the mirror daily?
I ought to just drop it, but I’d really like to know how someone can be so clueless about something they see day after day after day.
No, he pouts. I don’t.
Well, you shave every day. Don’t you look at yourself then?
I look at my face. I’m not inspecting my hairline.
He looks eerily like Evan a few months ago when he dropped his half eaten ice cream cone and realized that, no, I wasn’t going back to spend five dollars on a new one. But, an Evan with 60% less hair, of course.
He needs some time to digest this one and we stop talking and just lie, face to face.
SNL is now over. Bedtime.
Why does your face smell funny, he wants to know, his eyes now closed.
I’m using a new wrinkle cream.
Why? You don’t have any wrinkles. Your face looks exactly the same as it did 17 years ago.
I know, I say. It’s preventative.

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I’m losing my hair?!?