As I mentioned I would do, I had my head shaved this past Sunday evening.
Saturday morning as I ran the comb through my hair, more than the usual strand or two came out and it was just uck. So it strengthened my resolve.
And then Sunday came, and about mid-afternoon in a very quiet voice I told Vince I was scared to shave my head, even though I knew it was the better alternative.
In the evening, Vince readied everything. Took down the mirror in the bedroom, covered the mirror in the bathroom and had a hat ready for me.
Just before he brought the clippers close, he said, “I don’t want to do this.” And I replied, “Neither do I.” A couple seconds later I asked him why we were whispering!!
We both got through it. I’m not sure whether it was tougher on him or me, but I was the one who cried at the end.
And no, I haven’t looked at myself with the bald head in the mirror. I just can’t do it. At least not yet.
Ironically, though I love hats, I found the first one to be uncomfortable, so I wore a scarf today at work – kind of either like a pirate or a gypsy, heard both, not sure which.