Forehead expansion project

I thought about calling this post "Hair today, gone tomorrow." But I decided not to. You're welcome. Okay, even though I've tipped my hand as to where this is going, and it's definitely going, let's go.

It’s always sad when it happens, but whether I like it or not, there’s a reckoning coming. A once-trusty companion, a lifelong friend, something I relied on and was always there for me has taken the first step towards the long goodbye.

We’ve been through so much together. The great bowl cut fiasco of ‘95. The gel overdose incident of ‘05. Even a brief flirtation with a color not found in nature.

It’s sad but true. My hair, like my father’s hair before me, has begun a slow retreat.

It started innocently enough. Just a slight thinning in the front (at least something on me is getting thinner). “Nothing to worry about,” I thought. “It’s just my forehead... stretching.”

But as the years roll on, it’s becoming clear to me my hair is saying, “Shecky, get the limo—we’re outta here!”

Some men might panic at this development, and turn to desperate measures to turn back time: toupees. Miracle creams. Snake-oil cures. Dyes. Plugs. Transplants. Baseball caps. Combovers. The Hair Club for Men. Thanks, but no thanks.

I’ve decided to go the dignified route (I know, so uncharacteristic) and embrace my very slowly receding hairline with open arms. After all, why fight a battle I’m destined to lose?

In the meantime, I’m trying to stay focused on the positives. My time at the barber shop—don’t really need a salon at this point—will go a lot faster. Showers are definitely quicker. Shampoo expenses are down. I’m sleeker, more aerodynamic and move through the world just a little easier.

And the silver lining—literally, fortunately—is the pace of the retreat seems to be happening exceptionally slowly. I’m not even close to the Lester Holt/Jude Law/Nic Cage/Sting loss leaders yet. In fact if I hadn’t brought it up, you might not have even noticed. So, time is on my side. Even if my hair isn’t.

To anyone else facing the issue, my advice is own it. Laugh about it. And if you’re entrepreneurial like me, monetize it. My once-full head of hair might just be my next big business venture.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to measure my forehead for ad dimensions. Super Bowl Sunday is just around the corner, and I’ve got prime real estate to sell.

Cut and dried

Everything in life is about managing risk. True fact—we do it everyday. Crossing the street. Flying across country. Eating sushi. Driving at rush hour. It's all a calculated roll of the dice on something not going wrong.

Up until last Saturday, I would've thought haircuts don't really qualify for that category. Come to find out I was wrong.

I usually get my haircut with Gene. He's awesome. He cuts with precision, always mindful of what I'm going for. What I'm usually going for is a cut that makes me look 40 lbs. thinner and more like George Clooney. Keep hope alive.

The point is, I have a great stylist I trust and love. The problem is, a lot of other people love him too. He's booked weeks and even months in advance with his regular customers. And even though I'm one of them, I'm not someone who can schedule haircuts every four or six weeks. It doesn't work like that for me. One day my silver locks will be looking fabulous, then suddenly overnight they're as out of control as a Trump rally in a blue state.

And they need to be stopped just as quickly.

Here's the point: I couldn't get in to see Gene Saturday, and my hair wouldn't wait. So I opted for Plan B, and went to another barber shop where I'd never been before. My son recommended them, so I figured, in that naive way of reasoning I have when I want to talk myself into something, he goes there, they have good reviews on Yelp, a really nice shop and do this for a living.

What could possibly go wrong?

App-hair-ently a lot (SWIDT?). Since I didn't have an appointment, I was shuffled off to the stylist who's only been there two months, doesn't have a regular clientele and gets to experiment on all the walk-ins. A fact I didn't realize until after the damage had been done.

I remember years ago when my son was five or six, we had to run to Bristol Farms market to pick up something. It was just before his bedtime, and he didn't want to go because he was in his pajamas, and he thought everyone would stare at him. Never one to miss a teachable moment, I confronted him with this cold, hard truth of life. "No one cares. In fact no one will even notice."

So I dragged him to the store in his pajamas. And no one cared.

I know in the other world, the one that doesn't revolve around me, it's same with my haircut.

Since I had it butchered, excuse me, cut on Saturday, I looked drastically different when I came into the office on Monday than when I'd left Friday. And even though I was extremely self-conscious about it, guess what? No one cared.

A couple people noticed I was much more aerodynamic moving through the halls than I'd been the week before, and mentioned how much they liked the cut. I smiled, said thanks, and retreated to my office to hate it even more.

The good news about my haircut is eventually time makes everything better. It's only a two week mistake at best. Just like my high school girlfriend.

I suppose I should actually be grateful. New customer, no appointment, unknown salon and a relatively new hire working on my hair.

It's only shear luck it didn't come out any worse.