My Rodesian Ridgeback Head

There. I said it. That's what my bald head looks like. Not pronounced, but there. It was the first thing that came to mind the first time I really looked at my own bald head but I never said it out loud. It took my brother, Jack, to say it. That was his comment when he first saw my head. I was slightly taken aback but later I was able to laugh about it because he was entirely correct and I'd had the same thought myself. There's no fighting the truth. And no, I will not be posting a photo of my head here. I've been waiting to see if I'll get there but I don't think I will. I still do a shocked double-take when I catch sight of my unadorned scalp in a mirror. If I'm not used to it now, I doubt I ever will be. I'm becoming especially eager to have hair grow back. Now. By the way, since I degunked my scalp's surface, it's so shiny under the bathroom lights that I can hardly open my eyes to look at it ... the glare is blinding!

My hairless head is a curiosity to me. I now understand why I was never good at balancing a book on it, which is something Mom had all of us kids do from time to time in order to encourage good posture. We'd balance books on our heads and then, under Mom's direction, walk with our toes properly following the kitchen linoleum seams to prevent our becoming pigeon-toed or duck-footed. I don't know if any of that worked. We are what we are. Anyway, no wonder I couldn't balance a book on my head. A cushion of hair was my only saving grace in that department.

Today, after my long, reclining soak in the tub, I tried balancing things on my head ... a talcum container, a body butter container ... with no hair, there's not even a hope. I have a starfish that sits very nicely on top, though.

My Rodesian Ridgeback Head