bath tub blues

About 8 years ago I was renting this apartment at the top of a very old Victorian home. The landlord was nuts, but the place was great. The only problem was that I had a bathtub, no shower. I don't get baths, really. I mean, I do if you are real small and agile, but if you are aren't, then you have to deal with water displacement which makes bathtub sitting really awkward. I have tried, too. But I have to be really still because the water goes right to the top. The brim! And if I move too much, or at all, then the water pours over the side. And I see commercials where ladies are sitting in their tubs, with candles and wine, reading books and stuff! What is that? I tried to read one time in the tub, but my book got wet, and I just got irritated. Not to mention the fact that my legs sort of float to the top and then my body naturally rolls to the side, so I have to constantly reposition myself. Not to mention the reality that when you sit in a tub you are really sitting in dirty water; and I think to cover up the dirty water is the real reason for bathtub soap. I don't think it is soap at all, actually. So fuck the tub. (Disclaimer: the honeymoon suite on my wedding night had the greatest tub in the world. And thus began the idea that I, too, can enjoy tubs like the ladies).

Anyway, I quickly figured out a system which included a daily, morning head dunk. I would wash my hair by dunking my head into a tub of water because taking a full bath in the morning is satanic at best. I am not too cool in the morning either. I usually can't talk very well, and I am mean and grumpy. I would probably fall asleep in the tub and drown anyway. So I dunked out of safety and convenience. But what happened was shocking. I started noticing large amounts of hair in the tub after the head wash. I was losing my fucking hair!

And the tub head dunk reminded me of this...everyday! It was a vicious reminder akin to Roskolnikov's punishment. Anyway, the hair thing went on for a while and then it sort of stopped, and now I have balding patterns to prove it. And my hair is thinning as well. I am fucked for ever having a full head of hair again. Damn you Hastlehoff, Coffey, or anyone else with a dynamic head of hair.

Over the weekend Boogah reminded of my thinning hair. Boogs was kind enough, but I couldn't help notice a subversive grin underneath it all. And in between Jolie Holland and confronting aggressive squirrels, the conversation's tone was this:

Boogah: "oh, I wouldn't cut your hair too short. Not yet anyway. I mean, you might as well enjoy it while you have it cause I am sure it won't last forever."
Me: "yeah, right. I know. I need to learn how to enjoy my hair."
(squirrel approaches and harangues us with nitty little noises comprised equally of disgust and vitriol.)
Me: "I think that squirrel wants to eat us; But look at all the hair that squirrel has!"
Boogah: "Yeah, but rodents have to endure winter and hunger."

And then everywhere I looked I saw squirrels, balding men, or men with full heads of hair. So I was encouraged and mocked, all day long.

And now I notice I make old man noises when I get out of my chair. And I am really bothered by the fact that I even have a chair. To all my neighbors and loved ones: when you see me purchase a rack for my chair: to hold the remote, magazines, and a drink, please put me down quickly. For there is no mercy in a drink holder, and a balding man with a drink holder is no man at all.