Hair wise, our family is undergoing some strange transformations.
First, the top, front section of my son’s hair is fluffy with curls while the rest of his hair lies flat and straight. He’s a cross between a rooster and Madame de Pompadour.
Charles likes to encourage the poof by combing my son’s hair upward. I let him because sadly, my husband has no hair of his own with which to play. He’s bald as a bowling ball. He hid his hair loss well when we first started dating, but a year into our relationship he started shaving his head instead of adopting the dreaded comb-over—thankfully. He’s been told he looks like Moby, Phil Collins, and Billy Corgan. People always say he looks like someone. In fact, my friend recently called to say he looks like Les from "Survivorman." She was so excited about her conclusion—as if poor Charles has been walking around with a big bubble over his head that reads, Please, everyone, tell me who I look like.
Adding to Charles’ hair issues are the random occurrences of Alopecia in his beard and now on his body. It’s no surprise the poor guy always dons a huge wig come Halloween. I heard someone say once that, “You are who you pretend to be.” I like to think that when Charles gets his angel wings someday, the Pearly Gates will be bountiful with hair, much in the same way we envision our beloved pooches up in Heaven gnawing on an endless supply of rawhide. Some women wish riches and fame for their husbands; I wish functioning hair follicles.
I could easily spare some of my own: I’m growing all kinds of new hair on my head (hair I lost during pregnancy?). It’s not very flattering. Some of it is starting to encroach upon my ears. Then there’s a long row of short bangs that resembles a comb. It’s not long enough to look like a planned bang job; it looks more like a botched at-home crazed encounter with very dull scissors.
Our family photos are just lovely as of late. Charles resembles someone in the photos. I just wish I knew who it was!