“Baldy, wake up!”That’s how my husband chose to rouse me in the mornings.
Last year, I decided to embark on something I’d never even considered before.
For a while, I’d noticed odd bumps dotting my scalp, almost like a strange rash, and the constant itch was maddening. My hair started to come out in soft, sad clumps.
Multiple trips to both the GP and a hair specialist produced nothing but confusion. The doctor waved away any talk of vitamins, saying, rather peculiarly, that in her opinion they never did anyone a lick of good. Then, one foggy afternoon, I stumbled upon an articlequite an odd little thingwhich claimed shaving one’s head entirely bald would do wonders for the follicles. I mulled over it for ages, picturing myself as a shimmering egg. Even when my son confided in me, face all worried and small, that he’d be frightened to see me hairless, I knew I was moving steadily towards the idea.
I asked my husbandDavidto get the clippers and the razor, start slow and finish smooth. He looked at me askew, not quite believing I was serious, but fetched the clippers nonetheless.
Afterwards, I stood in front of the bedroom mirror, light pooling strangely across my bare head, and was oddly delighted at the round perfection of my skull.
It turned out the real challenge was venturing out into the chilly bits of Derbyshire with my head uncovered. Later, as stubble emerged, it would stick to my pillow with a most uncomfortable insistence, as if the pillowcase were hungry for it.
After David took to shaving my head, he began waking me up every morning with, “Baldy, wake up!”and every time, I’d collapse into giddy laughter, now being undoubtedly the baldest among us. At first, the children were properly astonished. Before long, my son announced he fancied trying it himself, in a strange fit of solidarity.
Mum gave me a ring and sternly suggested I keep my distance until my hair reappeared. She claimed the sight of me would simply be too much. My daughter, Lucy, pleaded that I wouldn’t dream of going to the school meeting without my woolly hat firmly on, while David dryly remarked that, honestly, if I strolled in hatless, everyone would immediately forget the meeting’s purpose. He was sure Lucy’s classmates’ mums would eye me with green envy for being so dashing.
After the great shearing, the bumps vanished on their own. Lucy still huffs with laughter over it, telling me she has absolutely no idea what bizarre thing I might do next. One dreamy afternoon, I overheard Lucy whispering to her brother Peter that she suspected I’d go and get a tattoo nextright on my shiny head.
