The Baldness

The beautiful, glamorous matriarch: Sheila.  The Grande Dame of groundhogs.

Good God, it sucks.  Every sighting of a bald head is proof that life isn't fair.  Why me?  I've shouted toward the sky again and again.  I'm still waiting for an answer.  I try to be a nice guy.  Why is it that I'm stricken with baldness and evil people, like terrorists and war criminals, have lush, full heads of hair?
I don't care what women say, if they have a choice between a guy who's bald and one who has a full head of hair, and everything else is equal, baldie will get the shaft every time.  Unless the lady in question has a fetish for bald guys.  It's possible.  After all, chubby chasers exist.  If folds of fat can turn someone on, then horseshoe-pattern baldness might as well.  I was seeing someone.  We were getting along fine.  She knew I was bald.  One day, I donned a hat and her passion level went through the roof as a result.  It was as though she completely forgot that I was a bald bastard.
I met and began dating a lady; I was wearing a hat from the beginning.  We had been going out for weeks, and she hadn't seen me without a hat on at all.  I was nervous.  What will happen when she finds out that I'm bald?  While we were having sex, it got pretty wild, and my hat fell off as a result.  She froze like a deer in the headlights and looked at the baldness in horror.  Then she said, "Get off me."
I said, "what?"
"Get off me now!" she screamed.
I got off her.  "What's the problem, baby?" I asked.
"The problem is you're bald, bitch!  It's over!  Get dressed and get out of here right now!  And start by putting your hat back on, for Christ's sake!"
"Are you serious, baby?"
"I'm as serious as a heart attack!  You disgust me!  Now get lost!"
Okay, the relationship just described never happened.  But I'm sure things like that have happened. 
There is one good thing about being bald.  I haven't had to pay for a haircut in years.  Every time they finish cutting my hair, after grabbing my jacket (if applicable), I act like I'm going for my wallet, then I take off running.  I'm just kidding.  I cut my own hair.  I shave it all off.  I'm pretty sure the trimmer and hand-held mirror paid for themselves by the second haircut I gave myself.  It doesn't even take that long anymore.  If I didn't have OCD, I'd probably have it done in a jiffy.  But I can't help trying to get it perfect.  I do a better job than some of the barbers who have had the pleasure of working on my head.  It's not because I'm better at cutting hair than any of them, it's because I care more about what I look like than they do.  One young guy even cut me with the trimmer once.  The blood dripped down my head.  I tipped him anyway, and I regret doing that.  He didn't deserve a tip after butchering me.  I've never done that to myself.
Also, I have a real appreciation for bald humor.  I'm a big fan of Larry David and Curb Your Enthusiasm, and I love it whenever he uses baldness for the purpose of comedy.  The funniest was when he refused to give candy to a couple of girls who came to his front door on Halloween because they weren't wearing costumes.  The next day, there was toilet paper all over his yard, and someone had written "bald asshole" on his house.  He called the cops and suggested that perhaps it should be treated as a hate crime because of the bald asshole thing.
One of the cops had a shaved head, but not because he was bald, it was because that's the kind of haircut he wanted, and he said, "I'm bald, and I'm not offended."
Larry said, "With all due respect officer, you shave your head because it's fashionable to do so, and we don't really consider you to be part of the bald community."