I've been looking at men a lot lately. They're fascinating, aren't they? I can't help but stare at them any time I'm in their company these days. Oh, I know they witter on about sport and booze and football and beer and competitive drinking but to be honest, and I'm sorry for being sexist here, I never listen to a word they say. I just like gawping at them. I don't look at all of them. They're men, for God's sake. No, I just look at bits of them. The bits I like. The bits I'm obsessed with. The bits that, if I had them, I wouldn't stop touching.
Look, I admit it. I'm losing my hair and over the last six months or so the little hair I have seems very keen on rushing off. And since then I can't seem to stop looking at men's hair. Men with hair are lucky bastards with no idea of their good fortune going on on top of their heads. I know, I've seen them. I sat next to a man on the tube the other day who had a full, beautiful head of hair that wasn't in any way strategically brushed to hide wastelands of skull and yet he wasn't constantly smiling out of sheer jamminess. If anything he actually looked pissed off that another man was staring with such awe and respect at his head. In fact, he was so stuck up that he shouted "WHAT?", like having hair was normal, and moved seat so I couldn't smell it anymore. If you're a man and I've been in your company in the last six monthsm know this: I've been looking at you.
I used to have hair. I had it and I treated it like a bit of furniture. I thought it would always be on my head. You know, like a head sofa or a table hat. OK, that was a shit analogy but what I'm saying is I took my hair for granted, like it was a doormat. Ironic as I can now wipe my feet on it. Before it left me, my hair was just abused. I NEVER had a decent hair do. NEVER. Mullet, caesar cut, crap mohawk. My hair had every chance to be majestic but my lack of imagination made it look like a ginger BBC3. Yes, I was ginger once. What I wouldn't give to have those luscious flowing ginger locks once more. Why did I treat it so thoughtlessly? My mullet was ginger. Not only that but when I grew my hair long, because I'm a secret curly as well as a secret ginger, it fell naturally into ringlets. I thought I looked like Tony Iommi from Black Sabbath but really I looked like Violet Elizabeth from Just William. That doesn't get you laid at the Monsters of Rock Festival in Donnington and, it turns out, that's the only thing that doesn't get you laid at the Monsters of Rock Festival in Donnington.
All I know is, If I had my hair again I'd treat it better. I mean, it was a quiff for ages. That was nice. But, really, I wasn't nice to my hair and now it's had enough. Soon, I'll be a useless member of society due to being rubbish and bald. Not that I had much of a chance. My Dad went bald in his 30's (if he's reading this. If he's not, he was in his late teens) and his father went bald at an early age too. Of course, there's that theory that we get our hair from our maternal line (BULLSHIT) but I've seen a photo of my mother as a baby and she was practically completely bald at only 3 weeks old. Mind you, my brother has an incredible head of hair that I see as the lengthy locks of mighty Samson himself, despite his hair being almost military short. I also consider his penis, as do all balding men, to be building-smashingly huge because once your hair goes, so does your penis. Look, what I'm saying is this: love your hair. You'll never be able to trust it but love it while it's here before it gets bored of you and goes. If you have hair, run your fingers through it now. Don't wear a hat. Show the world what you've got before it's too late. If you have hair, there's no such thing as a bad hair day.
And to my balding brothers and sisters I say this: we are the heroes. Remember how easy it was to have hair? It wasn't even a thought back then. But seeing every strand leave the nest one by one? To see more hide than hair every time we look in the mirror? To basically look at our bathroom sink like it's part wookie EVERY MORNING? We are the brave ones. I was once told that when you go bald the dignified thing is to shave your head. What's dignified about being a coward? I'm going bald. That's who I am. And those few hairs that want to stay? You think I would forsake them? They are my children and my head is their tit.
I could have come up with something better than that, I'm sure of it. Look, just enjoy your hair. It's later than you think. I can't believe I threw the best days of my hair away and if my hair all came back tomorrow I would greet each and every strand like a long lost love. Hair, I want you to come home. The head's too big without you.
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