I just shaved Matt’s head.
Nerve-wracked at first, I took scissors to his long hair to get it to a manageable length. Then, after I got the razor in my hands, I started really enjoying shaving his head — I think it’s at about 2 mm all over now!
Watching it peel away was so weird at first. Then the vibrations of the electric shaver made my fingers start to tingle. It was fun. And now, while I have just finished and Matt is in the shower, I sort of feel like I want to shave my head too!
But I won’t. The last time I did this, I was in my early 20s. My friend E came over to the apartment in Oakland that I shared with ELL and ACK. I shaved his head in the kitchen, and then he shaved mine. The following week, at the grocery store, the checkout lady addressed me as “Sir.” I decided right then that I would never shave my head again — as a young woman, that was mortifying.
Today I wouldn’t be able to do it either. Vanity, I guess. Plus my skull is too lumpy in the back.
Still, I think of my friend Chantico, who just lost her hair to chemo. Instead of shaving my head in solidarity (believe me, I considered it), I have been growing and growing my hair, hoping I will have the patience to let it grow long enough to give it away for a wig. I am afraid I won’t. We will see…