The Bald Truth, or The Clippers and the Damage Done
I don't have a lot of hair on my head, and I'm okay with that.
I've had a beard since I was sixteen, and I started losing my hair in my mid-20s. Somewhere, there exists a picture of me with a ponytail. Don't try and picture it, it'll only keep you up at night.
Every four or five days, I take out my Wahl hair clippers (you know, the one with the self-sharping, high-carbon steel blades), and I run it over my head just to even things out. I've been doing it for a long time, exhausted my fair share of clippers.
I was shaving my head this morning when my clippers started to sputter and cough. One minute the juice was flowing and the blades blazing; the next, my clippers up and died.
I looked in the mirror. It looked like I had mange.
So I had a choice to make. I could run out and buy new hair clippers or I could soap up my head and shave the modest amount of hair that was left.
Am I vain? I don't think so. But I was nervous about running a razor over my head. Or three, as it turned out.
It was an emotional morning.
Also: where exactly do sideburns begin?