If I’m going to go bald I want to go bald everywhere. Leg hair is hair too.
Have you ever been in a conversation with someone and they start talking in that slow calming everything’s going to be ok, just take a deep breath while I call the nice men with the valium voice and you’re like, oooh is someone freaking out? Then you realize you’re the only other one in the conversation?
I went to the Doctor and apparently:
- Hair loss is a symptom of anemia.
- Exhaustion is a symptom of anemia.
- A balding, tired me doesn’t sound as calm and collected as I think I do when asking why I can see my own scalp.
Really, hair loss is to be expected? By who? I’m too young and too female for a comb over, Doctor.
In good news the doctor doubled my iron prescription and promised that my hair will start to grow back when my iron levels return to normal. And, while my bathroom counter looks like a medicine chest, there’s still lots of room for the mannequin head in case he’s wrong. Off to buy a wig now. I may go blond.
Writing Exercise:
Point One:
I saw a great comedian perform last night. (On YouTube. That counts as live right?) One of his jokes was about sharing the crazy; flaunting it really. Like walking up to someone on the street and saying “peanut butter is the answer” then walking away. Perfect. I may actually try this, although I intend to use bananas instead of peanut butter because I’m not a comedy plagiarist and because bananas, right?
Point Two: (I swear it will connect to point one eventually.)
We all have things we’re self-conscious about. It could be those few extra holiday pounds, a nervous stutter or your steadily balding anemia scalp. Whatever your pain is, it’s usually worse in public wondering “are they staring at my head or just something interesting that can see through my thinning hair, god I miss the ‘80s when my hair was four inches taller and opaque”.
I don’t even necessarily mind that people might be thinking about my faults or pointing them out. The worse part for me is thinking that they might be wondering if I know. “Hey, think that lady knows you can count the number of hairs left in her widow’s peak?”
Point Three: That person, the one who breaks and just announces a litany of her self-loathing flaws to everyone she passes on the street would make an amazing character.
“I ate red sauce at lunch and now there’s an arrow shaped stain pointing at my left breast.”
“I gained eight pounds in four days. Personal best.”
“The tan line on my ring finger used to be a ring. I’m. Divorced.”
Happy writing.
PS. Bananas are the answer.
