Then there are other men. Nature steals those first few locks from them early, pushing back their hairline, sometimes gradually, sometimes quickly. Sometimes they fight Nature, but she's an unforgiving bitch. She keeps taking, testing them, challenging them.
A few of them strip of the gloves and take Her head on (pun intended). They get out the clippers, and take what little Nature grants them, defying Her to make them less of a man. And they emerge beautiful. Well-shaped, touchable heads . . . that fine layer of delicate fuzz at the back that tickles your hand as you run it in the opposite direction that the hair grows. The way it de-emphasizes everything but their eyes, makes you focus, get lost in their depths. For these few, the effect is breath-taking. More than hair can ever be. And sometimes, they don't even realize it, until someone tells them.
Ok, I'll confess . . . I just got out of a movie where I saw a trailer for Jason Statham (Transporter fame) in a lead role . . . it was science fiction, a genre I like, . . . he's in it . . . I could watch his shaved head all night and hope he rips off he shirt at some point. His chest is about the only thing nicer than his shaved head.
And the only thing nicer than his chest? Hugh Jackman's chest. I rest my case.
I think it started somewhere with Jean Luc Picard . . . nothing sexier than a mature, bald man commanding a star ship. Compounded when my sister-in-law and I saw La Reve, in Las Vegas. I could have eaten those beautiful men alive. Now? Show me a nicely shaved head and a pair of intense, beautiful eyes . . . I'm helpless. Truly.
Honey, if you ever start to lose your hair, you know what you have to do.