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. 

Kaput.

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?