I’ve recently been reminded in my marriage that while opposites attract, sometimes we’re not super attractive to each other. Such is life. You share a bathroom and a bed for goodness sakes. There will be sick days, ugly underwear and sagging bodies. He knows you wear Spanx under that little black dress and you know his underwear is older than your first-born child. Welcome to marriage. This is why chemistry is so much more important for the long haul than physical attraction.
I’m not a vain person, but I do confess I spend a lot of money on my authentic mahogany red hair with a blonde streak. You thought it was my real colour, right? Tricking you isn’t cheap. The Carpenter likes my long, absolutely natural hair, but he has no idea when I get my hair done because he doesn’t notice any changes. Clueless. And I will never understand why he refuses to go to a barber for a proper haircut. Hardhat head. Oh boy.
After work one night, the Carpenter took his regularly scheduled shower before dinner. He seemed to be taking a long time in the bathroom. I had yet to hear the water turn on. I made a mental note of it, assuming perhaps he had taken his mistress (the iPad) in there with him and was catching up on sports scores from his throne, safely out of eyesight of my judgement. Perhaps it was best that I not know.
I was in the basement folding laundry, (because I am a wild woman with wild hair leading a wild life), when I heard the Carpenter bellowing of my name. It was alarming. He sounded wounded. I bounded up two flights of stairs imaging the worst.
As I got to the bathroom, the Carpenter was standing in the doorway, clad in a towel, laughing hysterically. He had shaved his head, as he often does, but I couldn’t figure out what was so funny? Then he turned his head and I saw it: just above his ear, a wide strip of bold baldness, right to the scalp, that extended from his forehead to the nape of his neck. He looked like a punk rocker who lost a bet.
Turns out he had his electric clippers set at 12, which still gives him ample hair but less fuzz. He had shaved evenly half way around his head when he needed to clean the razors. Tapping it a few times on the side of the sink into a towel full of hair cuttings, (sprinkling his middle-aged-man fairy dust everywhere – and I do mean everywhere), he accidentally knocked the clippers off. He didn’t notice. He put the razor to his head and continued to swipe it along his head, over his left ear. Voila. A runway of baldness.
This hair trauma that surely would have caused me a meltdown didn’t appear to upset my husband in the least. He was laughing at himself. He knew he had to commit. There was no way to fix this.
Minutes later, Uncle Fester walked out of the bathroom grinning. Bald as bald could be. Smiling.
Days later, I cannot resist the urge to pet his head. My human Chia Pet.
It makes us both laugh. Laughter is good in a relationship. What can I say?
I adore that noggin, especially under a ball cap.
