After a recent fairly heated discussion with a good friend, I have realized how much I love the hair on my head and why it saddens me to see it go. Sniff sniff. Alas, for the first time, I am feeling old. No longer do I hum the ’18 till I die’ song. The first signs of age are showing. Hair loss and a receding hair line. Sniff sniff. I must say that I am better off than a lot of my fellow pot bellied friends and colleagues in the IT industry, who are nearly bald or have a fair number of bald patches.
I am blessed with the hair genes from my father’s side of the family. The type that no matter how much you try to style, to cut, to grow, will do what it feels like. My hair grows terribly slowly. And grows in the same fashion. Dull and boring. No conditioner or hair stylist can change the adamant hair genes that run in my bloodline. I had not cut my hair for over two months in the hopes that it would grow long enough to look cool. But alas, it just made me look homeless.
So back to the same school boy hairstyle I’ve been having for the last 24 years. I once remember the height of desperation in having a new hair style, that I shaved all the hair on the side and sported a Mohawk. (which was dealt with promptly in school). Well, if it follows the same lines as my father, I’d have a decent amount of hair on my head well into my sixties. Maybe no long locks that can be the envy of everyone and hence be showcased in a shampoo ad, but it will be there. At least I won’t be bald.
And now, with a few strands of graying hair, and some of it falling off, I can only hope I end up looking like George Clooney or Jason Statham.
(PS: I already got the charm and wit…and the fab bod too)
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