Hair only made a very brief appearance on the top of my head between the years of around 1967 to 1983. It was late in arriving and early in departing.
By the tender age of 19, it was already well on the wane. A tragedy – at the time of life when most guys are experimenting with really stupid hairstyles this avenue of self-expression was closed to me (although this does have the advantage some 25 years later that there are no really embarrassing photos of me in my youth in existence).
By the time I was in my mid-twenties, I was officially a ‘baldy-twat’. Whenever people guessed my age, it was always a decade more than my real age. It did have some minor advantages in the fact that, in my business life, people didn’t realize how young and out of my depth I was. But that was pretty much the only advantage of being deprived of hair from an early age.
This was not a great help to me while dating and also left me open to accusations of being a ’skinhead’, ‘bone dome’, ’slap head’, ‘bald-headed cunt’, etc.
My response to these taunts was that it was simply the result of having more than my fair share of male hormones and the burden I needed to carry in return for being blessed with an extraordinarily large penis (N.B. I have no research to corroborate my theory that bald guys have larger manhoods than those with a fine head of hair, just my own study, which had a sample size of one [i.e. me]).
But normally this was enough to shut the cheeky fuckers up anyway.
Fortunately the stigma of being bald has diminished a lot over the years. In the Sixties, Seventies and Eighties, you were a complete freak or a Nazi asshole (unless you were Telly Savalas or Yul Brynner) if you had no hair because all the cool people had really long hair. But this stigma started to wane as we got into the Nineties and the Noughties.
I kept cutting my hair shorter and shorter to try and stop the rot. By the start of the Millennium I was almost completely grey as well, which didn’t help at all.
It was in 2004 that I decided to go the whole hog and get rid of the last of it – an exercise which involved hacking large chunks of flesh out of my head with the razor the first time I tried it. I also had this strange moist feeling on the parts of my scalp that the sun had never shone on before.
I looked into the mirror with a feeling of trepidation not knowing what I would think of the person looking back at me. The first reaction was one of alarm as I looked like something out of a slasher movie due to the crimson rivulets dribbling down my face from the multitude of gaping wounds. However, after applying liberal quantities of toilet paper to staunch the blood-loss and then washing it off, I didn’t think it looked too bad at all.
And nor did other people. Soon afterwards, when playing the ‘guess how old I am?’ game with people, they now stated to guess at ten years younger (actually some people even guessed at 20 years younger [but they did tend to be people who were completely wasted {and were usually aged about 17 so they probably thought that even a 21 year old was an old codger with one foot in the grave already}]).
Another advantage is that I have never needed to go to the hairdressers since that day. I’ve never liked getting my hair cut – I’ve always thought that they were robbing bastards who should have charged me pro-rata based upon the percentage of hair remaining on my head because I had a lot less of it for them to cut and so it only used to take them about 10 minutes, but I still had to pay the same price as some other bloke who had more hair than an Afghan Hound. Thieving cunts.
In summary, shaving my head was the best thing I ever did with regards to my personal appearance – I only wished that I had done it a lot earlier. To all you fellow slapheads, I advise you to shave it all off as soon as possible. Forget all of the Rogaine, the toupees, the comb-overs, etc. – you’ll just look like a complete dick whenever anyone discovers your dirty little secrets (and they will, one day). Be bald and be proud.
However, I do have to shake my head when I see someone in their late teens or early twenties who has shaved their heads bald. All I can think is “son, for most of your lifetime, bald is the only option you’re going to have for a cool hairstyle – do something creative with your flowing locks while you still have them”.
There is one great irony when it comes to me and hair though in that the only place that I would actually like hair is the only place on my body where I don’t have any. Everywhere else and I can’t get rid of the bloody stuff fast enough.
No, I am cursed with being covered with a fine pelt, the like of which would make a Mountain Gorilla green with envy – it grows like weeds. If I was to accidentally leave my contact lenses out, and walk into a safari park thinking it was a nudist colony, I’d be stuck there for life.
On my chest I don’t mind it too much, but on my back? Ewwwww – that’s gross (something that I am reminded of constantly by my bay-bee [and quite rightly so]). The problem is that it’s so bloody hard to get rid of the stuff because the human arm is not designed to easily reach that part of the body – anywhere else is not a problem, but to shave your own back requires the dexterity of a contortionist and the patience of a saint who lives in a small room with mirrors on every wall.
I’ve been told that I should get it waxed or lasered. However, ever since the cancellation of Ronald Reagan’s ‘Star Wars’ missile defense system I don’t think that there’s any laser powerful enough to get it all off me. And it sounds terribly painful (and time-consuming and expensive). I did think of just buying a Flymo, laying down prostrate on the floor once a week and getting my bay-bee to give me a good harvesting. But she didn’t think it was such a good idea.
But salvation came after seeing this excellent ad:
So I got myself a Bodygroom (although I think it might be called something else in Europe). Unfortunately, it still doesn’t solve the problems that I previously mentioned about it being impossible to reach one’s own back, but I had great fun with it having a good go at my bollocks.
Previously my pubic area was wild and untamed territory, my bodily equivalent to the Amazon and somewhat reminiscent of the bushes you see in old German porno movies. Giving the region a good going over with the Bodygroom had remarkable, but rather shocking, results, because looking back at me in the mirror was the pubic area of a pre-pubescent teenaged boy. This was not altogether welcomed as, for the following few days I was afraid to touch it as it made me feel like some kind of dirty, perverted kiddy-fiddler.
So ever since then, I’ve been afraid to use the Bodygroom around my knob and have decided that just giving it a bit of a trim every now again is better for my mental health, if not my overall personal hygiene.
