It's all in my head

I will be 45 for another 4 months, 8 days and 21 minutes.

I do not want to be 46.

46 is starting to feel a little like heaven's waiting room.

I have many women friends on Facebook who are the same age as I am. But when I log on, rather than seeing pictures of their little sweet faces, my eyes only see thumbnails of, well, their Hair...blond, brown, red, - natural , colored, highlighted, it's all there, poking fun at my upper dermis.

You see, about 6 years ago, my hormones began to organize and plan their turn on me. I was dragged, kicking and screaming, into Male Pattern Baldness Land.

Things were pretty much rockin' along until I was brushing my hair one day, back when it was thick enough to require a brush, when I noticed it somehow seemed thinner. With 7 loose hairs clutched in my hand, and completely panic stricken, I ran to the kitchen " Oh my God! Feel this! Feel this! Does it feel thinner to you? Does it? DOES it??"

"No Honey. It feels fine" (this from a man that whose hairline was moving so fast I could feel a breeze). I can't help but wonder if my "problem" contributed to the demise of our relationship. Some of the final words I heard out of my x-prize were "..well my God Leslie, you all but accused me of being the reason your hair was falling out!" (and your point is.........?)

My quest began in earnest. Dermatologist, OBGYN, vitamins, volume producing hair products, colored sprinkles, men's 5% minoxidil (screw the warnings - growing another ovary is worth it to me) and sprays - and in return I received an irritated scalp and some sympathy. Lots of sympathy.

When I was 7, I stood before our professional model mother's cavernous closet. Her upper shelf was lined with white Styrofoam "heads" covered in wigs and falls.... skinny ones, ones with plastic combs attached, ones fashioned like the 70's bob - ones that reminded me of Barbara Eden in "I Dream of Jeanie". The forrest of red, auburn and copper colored hair made me think of one thing: sheer glamour. Hmmm. I smell a fish.

Note pad in lap, impossibly thick locks cascading over her shoulders, complete with Cher like hair flipping actions, "it's about honoring your hair loss Leslie" Even my therapist? Really?

If I ever go missing, you can probably find me at the drugstore in the hair accessory aisle - longing to purchase a pony tail holder (the fat one) or a flat iron, hot rollers or a round brush. Until then, I have my credit card at the ready to purchase the next product promising to restore my mane, my youth and my dreams of tumbling curls, up-do's and french knots.