A Change in the Wind (With Apologies to Mary Poppins)

My mother used to recite a little poem to me, about a little girl with a little curl right in the middle of her forehead (and when she was good she was very very good, and when she was bad she was horrid). I don't know what Mom was getting at, since I was neither a little girl nor did I have a curl, on my forehead or otherwise. Maybe it was the good vs horrid thing.

Or perhaps it was by way of prophesy. No one would now mistake me for a little girl, but, darn it all, I do have a little curl right in the middle of my forehead. . .


. . . and quite frankly I'm tired of it. It's kind of like a front comb-over that just doesn't work. I am not afraid of baldiness; I long ago came to grips with what time inevitably does to the human body. I can deal with that.

What I'm not quite sure about is how far to go down that path on my next visit to the barber. I sort of want to just flop into the chair and say, "take it all off," but I'm not sure about the consequences. Sometimes things can go wrong.


On the other hand, I'm not sure half-measures are much better.


So I'm struggling with what to do.

It needs to be done soon, so I have Christmas break to recover. Any advice will be welcome.