Monday, 13 March 2006

Will you still need me will you still feed me when I'm 34?

It's no secret that I've been growing balder and balder over the years, something that started something like 10 years ago. I got used to it by now and it doesn't really trouble me anymore; while at first I felt guilt and thought that every single hair that fell is punishment for calling yet another bald person Kojak, by now I don't really care. If anything, let all the hair on my head fuck off so at least I wouldn't require the occasional visit to the hair dresser (and I wouldn't even mention the daily boring routine of shaving).
I talked about the additional signs of rust that came over for a visit and have over stayed their welcome in the form of back pains, but that was also expected given my height and my family's history.
What I didn't expect but also started getting used to is the migration of hair from my head to lower areas, as if pulled by gravity. Some 10 years ago I didn't have any hair on my chest and nothing on my back other than the back of my neck. Now, although I'm not Robin Williams yet, there's definite over forestation in those areas. Yet another demonstration for this rather feeble an argument called Intelligent Design.
But the newest phenomenon to which I am yet to get used is white hairs. I fail to understand how the only hairs that seem to flourish on my head are the white ones: They multiply like rabbits, they grow much faster than their counterparts, they feel very plasticky and brittle so they stick out, as if searching for attention. Just like the weeds in our Hiroshima tribute of a garden.
Mind you, they don't just settle for the head. They pop up on my legs, stomach, and even my beard has some white snow like speckles on it.
I'm too old for this shit.

2 comments:

uri said...

Not to burst your bubble, but you're much much closer to 35 (less the six weeks at the time of my comment)

Moshe Reuveni said...

True, but the song is "when I'm sixty four", and I didn't want to stray too much.