Monday, November 1, 2010

I Shaved My Head



When I was about 24 I shaved my head. Not with a razor like Mr. Clean but with the clippers, all the way down to the scalp. I was left with about a quarter centimeter of hair.

I was drunk at a friend's house when I did it. A couple of guys sat on the edge of the bathtub and watched. My friend Mandy looked at me in the mirror and said, "Are you sure?" And I said, "Yeah," and she cut my hair off a few inches from my scalp and then she shaved the hell out of it.

At the time I worked in a small office downtown. I rode the express bus every morning with about 24 automatons in floral print skirts who had been working at the same place for probably 15 years. They thought I was weird already because I always got on the bus, went to the very back seat, and fell sound asleep with my head on my backpack. When I got on the bus with a shaved head, they stared at me. Hard. They kept glancing up surreptitiously from their John Grisham novels. I really wanted them to ask me about it. I had so many awesome lies ready to tell. Here are some of my favorites:

"My lover likes the feel of a shorn scalp on her snatch."

"I was just elected President of the North Dallas Aryan Women's Alliance and I'm trying to look the part."

"I have cancer. Now you probably feel bad for giving me dirty looks 'cause I sleep on the bus. It would help if you gave me some money."

But nobody ever asked me anything or even mentioned it. When I got to work, my boss started to laugh, stopped herself, and then pretended like it had never happened and nothing had changed.

People don't know what to do when a chick shaves her head. Everything in them is crying out, "WHYYY?!?!" But they can't ask because they're afraid of the answer.

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