My Island

on Jul 01, 2013 by Michael Rupured

I have my very own island. Taking care of the silly little thing is more trouble than it’s worth. I’m thinking about getting rid of it.

A tropical island with palm trees, ocean breezes, and sandy beaches I’d keep. This isn’t that kind of island, or really even something I could put on Craig’s List for sale. Truth be told, giving the damn thing away would be a challenge.

Take a gander at the photograph to the left. Look close and you’ll see a tuft of hair up front that isn’t connected to the rest of my hair. My island was born a widow’s peak, centered between matching cowlicks. I spent a good thirty years slicking the cowlicks down — along with another at my crown — and wishing I didn’t have them. It worked too. They’re gone. I mean completely gone — there’s not a hair within inches of where they used to be.

I don’t remember when the little canal between the island and the larger continent of my hair first appeared. Early on, length concealed the channel — a feat requiring longer and longer hair with each new year. Now the gap has widened to the point where action is required.

A hair piece would certainly fix the problem, but I’ve never been a fan of the toupee. The moment in Behind the Candelabra when Scott and the viewing audience see Liberace without his rug for the first time deepened my conviction. That image will haunt me for years to come. I couldn’t do that to someone I loved.

Creams, gels, and the like? No, but if you’re interested, I could whip up a tonic I guarantee would work as well. And since we’re friends and all, I’d just charge you what it costs me to make the stuff — $19.95 plus shipping and handling. I’m still waiting to hear back from the producers of Shark Tank about taking my cure for baldness global. With as little as $100, you can get in on the ground floor and get rich with me. Actual results may vary.

Plugs, implants, and transplants? Expensive ways to postpone the inevitable. If the first crop died, without a significant change in growing conditions, investing in another crop is just foolish. Besides, the guys in the ads look gay as hell in the “after” pics. Do straight men go for a different option? Or do hair plugs make you look gay? I have no idea.

Some of my friends, including several who have done so, suggested the nuclear option. Shave my whole head. As much as I hate shaving, the idea of maintaining a properly buffed and polished pate has zero appeal. I’m just not ready to push the button on the nuclear option.

Shaving off just the island is another option. Nobody would notice I’d backed my hairline up a few inches. I could keep the island from returning with a swipe of the razor when I shave in the morning.

But my hair has always been my best feature. I’m sort of attached to what little is left, especially now that I have the highlights I wished for throughout my teens, twenties, and into my thirties. They’re silver rather than the blond or light brown strands I wanted, but at least they’re not that copper color I always ended up with when I tried adding them myself.

My research on dating apps turned up a sexy gay man talented hair stylist who, after letting my hair grow for an extra month, I decided to date see about a new look. He suggested wild and crazy sex letting my hair get a little longer. Great idea!

But with the solution came a different problem. The little redneck barber lady who has cut my hair for years kept it short for a reason. The longer it gets, the more my coarse and wiry highlights tend to poke out in every direction. Throw in overgrown eyebrows, mustache, and goatee, and my head bore a striking resemblance to a Brillo pad that’s been used enough for the blue to have washed out of it.

My new stylist trimmed, clipped, shaved, and waxed the wiry stuff into submission. Yeah. Waxed. I yelled “Shit!” in a salon full of small children when he yanked, but my awesome eyebrows don’t hide my eyes anymore.

In the end, I was happy with the results. He told me to wipe some oil through my hair when it gets a little frizzy. I need to pick some up. Now that I’ve gone all electric with my mower and other yard engines, there’s not a drop of oil in the house.

A hair bridge now connects the island to the rest. Longer hair gives me options I haven’t had before. For example, I could get a weave. Never say never, but frankly, I’m too cheap. Have you seen how much extensions cost?

I like my hair now, but the mullet I had in the 80s, hands down, was the best hair I ever had. The “business in the front, party in the back” look really worked for me, and it was the last time I had bangs.

*sniff*

I’m not sure what hurts more, changes to my hairline or that society says a mullet is no longer a respectable option. My island will eventually disappear. I figure another inch or two of forehead will make me look cerebral. Maybe for my next cover photos, I’ll add eyeglasses, a tweed jacket with patches at the elbows, and a pipe, reflecting as I pose on just how much I miss my mullet.

4 Comments

  1. zahraowens says:

    I’m partial to balding men with an island. Keep it neatly trimmed, but visible, and it tells me I’m dealing with a confident man. And in your case a funny one, but that has less to do with the island and more with the way you write. Or I might just be easily amused!

    • Ha! I hope it’s not just that you’re easily amused. 🙂

      Have to admit, this is one of my funnier posts. Parts crack me up no matter how many times I read them. Thanks for stopping by!

  2. crotchetymama says:

    The passage of hair styles from fashionable to frowzy is a never-ending source of frustration. I felt that way about the Pixie. It worked for me. Today, it is not only “out”, but even if it were “in” it wouldn’t be a good option these days. Age is a bitch. Although there are bits of it that work well for me. Not complainin’. Just sayin’.