The Shave

So, about a week ago I was by myself for about five whole days. I’ll tell you what I did.

First of all I shaved my head. . .

I found myself looking at myself in the mirror, challenging like, at around two thirty in the morning. As I stared into my own eyes I thought to myself, “You wouldn’t, you’re too chicken.” Then I said out loud and defiantly, though not too loud in fear of waking my mother in the next room, “I will to! I just don’t know if I want to, that’s all.”

You have to understand I have quite the large head, and hair that sometimes resembles thinness but is more accurately fine. To better understand think of the hairs themselves as thin and not the body of hair. So I stood there staring into my own beautiful brown eyes with a grimace, intermittently shifting my gaze between my shaggy hairline and the sideburn trimmer that lie still next to the sink like a stalking cat ready to pounce. “Don’t take your eyes off that guy,” I thought, “he could attack at any moment. I then laughed at myself and said, out loud again, “You’re not going to actually do it, just go to bed”.

Then as I turned away, just a breath away from turning out he light, I caught a glimpse of something in the mirror. “Was that Mr. Challenge laughing at me?” It was, and standing next to him was his naughty mistress Ms Sense of Adventure. Then from behind the toilet my pride made his entrance. Upon his unimpressive entrance Ms Sense of Adventure turned to him and with a smirk muttered, “I thought he was taller than that." They both erupted into laughter that echoed across the now over populated bathroom.

Feeling ashamed I jumped back in front of the mirror and gave a long hard look at myself. Thoughts flooded my head, “How can I respect myself if I can’t even shave my own head? I mean what do I care? So I may look incredibly funny, but people will still like me, right?” Then out of the recesses of my mind, a phantom childhood memory emerged in my cognitive kitchen and served up a previously un-thought of memory. My mother’s grad school friends used to refer to me as baseball head when I was little. My head has been the same size since I was born. "Was it still to big for my body?"

The snooty couple behind me let fly and evil guffaw of triumph, “Muwahahahaha!!!!” Mr. Pride took a deflated seat on the John. I stared deeper into my beautiful brown eyes…

“I’ll do it!! That’s right assholes I’ll do it!! I’m not afraid to look like an idiot!!!” Mr. Pride stood up with a cheer of resounding triumph and achievement.

The sideburn trimmer, with impeccable timing and cunning agility pounced. I found myself, in defiance…or what now looked like submission…to the snooty Mr. and Ms, kneeling down in my shower naked, to avoid the hairs in the collar of my shirt, letting the side burn trimmer do its worst, and it did.

After a half hour of effort the once deadly looking side burn trimmer had only found defeat roaming the vast wild expanse of the finely vegetated, brown eyed dome resting atop a superbly etched masculine neck. The outskirts of the wilderness that is my head of hair were chopped to bits but the heart of the jungle was left pretty much unscathed, “SHIT!! Now what do I do?”

I had successfully butchered the front, sides, and back of my head. The top however, the filet mignon of my once professionally cultivated head of hair, was left standing a defiant six inches long. I had come to a point where defeat and humiliation were staring me in the face, pointing and laughing. The bathroom at this point was pretty crowded with personified character traits. I had to get out of there. Upon leaving the bathroom I ran headlong into hope. It was so simple, what place welcomes all bored down trodden lonely people at all hours of the nights offering low cost solutions to all of the world’s major problems? WAL MART.

The trip was short and the hair clippers inexpensive. I arrived back to the now less populated bathroom and gave myself a fine shave with an eight guard in the presence of Mr. Confidence and Ms Resourcefulness. Pride at this point had left my house, I think he got sick.

I woke the next morning with an uneven but surprisingly good look. My mother made a few adjustments to the back and I was good to go. I have to say I don’t think I look half bad. So in your face Mr. Challenge and Ms. Sense of Adventure you got nothing on this.