I have a bald spot. I thought you should know this. I don't mind telling you about my hair deficiency. I'm not embarrassed by it. Not at all. In fact, if this was Facebook, I would post a picture of it right now so you could see it for yourself.
Much like a Facebook picture, though, the novelty of a bald spot wears off after a while. Initially, it made for a great conversation piece. When I would walk into a room, the strands of hair would float off my head in slow motion, and friends would remark, "There's something different about you...did you do something with your hair?" I'd smile and respond, "Yes...I'm losing it."
What can I say? I like to be the center of attention.
Nowadays, for practical reasons, I'd prefer it if I didn't shed like a a Persian cat. There are hair bunnies scattered all over my apartment. It's messy. Sometimes, when it's really quiet, a hair tumbleweed will roll across the floor.
I have one ally in my fight against hair loss: Rogaine. I buy a three-month supply of it every, well, three months, though I try to stock up in advance whenever possible.
Sometimes I forget. Not a good feeling. When I pick up a can of Rogaine and discover that it's empty, and I realize I don't have more in the cabinet, my heart starts to race and for a brief moment I panic.
Fortunately, I buy Rogaine from a 24-hour drugstore. It's reassuring to know that when I have the urge to rub foam on my head before I go to sleep at two in the morning, and I'm all out, I can get my fix pretty quickly.
I do have one problem with buying Rogaine at the drugstore, regardless of the time of day: A huge alarm is wrapped around it. This bothers me. A lot.
It's a slap in the face to bald people. There are no alarms on the mascara, or the candy, or the toilet paper. I don't like the implication that my hair loss has driven me to such desperation that I'd seek out minoxidil at any cost.
If nothing else, the alarm is a nuisance. Last month, I purchased a three-pack of
Rogaine using a self-checkout machine, and forgot to ask an employee to
remove the alarm. As soon as I walked out the door, a detector went off, a security guard yelled at me
and I was chased down the street by a pack of Rogaine-sniffing dogs. I
exaggerated that story for effect, but I'll leave it to you to figure
out which parts are real and which are fake.
The drugstore has no cause for concern. The vast majority of bald men are not thieves, I am confident of that. And if we all were thieves, we'd be smart enough to pool our resources and pull off one massive Rogaine heist. It would be like the opening scene of The Dark Knight. Except, hopefully, we wouldn't pick one another off in the middle of it.
This is my plea, on behalf of all bald people, to the drugstores of the world: Keep the alarms off our Rogaine, please. We may have less hair than you, but you can still trust us.
Believe me: if someone does steal your Rogaine one day, you'll be able to track him down quickly by following the trail of his hair out the door.