Premature baldness runs in my family.
My grandfather hasn’t had a strand of hair on his head since probably his 35th birthday, and my dad wasn’t far behind. When I was in third grade, I drew a picture of my father with hair shaped sort of like a fleur-de-lis, with three distinct lobes representing his rapidly receding hairline. (Soon after, all trace of any kind of hairline disappeared entirely, replaced by a shiny, smooth dome that looks strangely handsome on him, like a younger, even more badass Bruce Willis.) Even my younger brother, whose determined locks are still hanging on for now, is constantly stressed he’ll be the next Hairless Heir to the family name.
But the joke’s on him, because I have usurped the throne.
I am now, without question, the baldest one in the family. When selecting emojis to represent myself in text message vignettes, I am now…
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