Yesterday morning, I looked like this:

From the back:

By 10:30 a.m., I looked like this:

My Lovely First Wife said I look like a banker from the 80s. Nu?

So things are different now. For one thing, my hats don’t fit. I have a small skull anyway so I’m always having trouble finding hats that will not swallow my ears, but the hats I’ve bought over the last couple of years apparently needed my manbun/ponytail thing to keep my hats snug. Without that bulk, I could barely keep my hat on yesterday walking back from the stylist. (I’ve ordered hat tape, the foam strip that you put inside the sweatband to make it snugger.)

I find myself reaching up to run my fingers through my hair, but of course it’s not there anymore. I remember the first time I ran my fingers through and lifted my hair up like a common Brigitte Bardot — it was a thrill. Oh well. The joys of life come and go, ne-ç’est pas?

In that same vein, last night I found myself reaching to pull my hair through the elastic bands that hold my CPAP mask on, and laughing because I don’t have to do that anymore. I suspect I’ll be reaching for that hair for a while.

And of course, I’m not shedding like a Golden Retriever or having to pull an errant strand out of my mouth or beard or glasses.

So the hair goes into the mail today so that the Longhairs will get it in San Diego in time to count in the roundup. I’m not sure how helpful it will be; after all that time, it was a pitiful little strand that couldn’t weigh more than an ounce, but it’s the thought that counts, right?