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That being said, I thought I had gotten over this whole going bald thing. It started my senior year in college, about a year after I cut off my long hair. A friend, Jon , was on a staircase above me at a party, while I was getting stupid drunk below, and he said, "Yo, I think you might be losing your hair man." As is my nature, I started to obsess on the subject. After a few years of many hours spent holding mirrors behind my head, I started Rogaine. I can't remember exactly what time period this was - maybe when I was 23 or so. I was not a satisfied customer. Rogaine is icky, greasy, expensive stuff that leaves stains on your future inlaws couch ala Eric LaSalle in Coming to America.When my head started itching all the time, I quit the hair sauce. Cold turkey. I was never convinced it worked anyway. Since I'm getting the classic male pattern bald formation my two choices are A) go bald gracefully, wait for the inevitable spread to the front of my head, and finally go the way of the razor, or, B) find religion, judasim or islam or something and wear a yarmulke or skull cap until I go the way of the razor. Plan B is starting to sound tempting. Why? Why, you ask? Because people suck.Apparently when you are struggling with the first stages of baldness, all people want to do is let you know. Like it's some fucking public service. I'm at a wedding, having a good time getting plowed and minding my own business, but my head attracts the attention of a bridesmaid who casually drops this line to Jon - "Oh, that's Ed? Next to the shiny head guy?" A dollar goes to the reader who can guess who the shiny head guy was. That's right. Me. Fuck.Of course, this comment wasn't addressed to me, though that bitch would have to be half-retarded to think I wouldn't hear about it. So enter my coworker Fatty McTactless. I'm in a meeting with about twenty people. They called me in to complain about shit, which is their right as fuckwits, but as a master of fuckwit manipulation I have them in awe of my splendor in no less than 15 minutes. At 20 minutes I ask to leave the meeting, as I am done with them. On my way to the door Fatty says, "Hey, looks like you're starting to go bald." In front of the whole room and three people in on video screens in the london office. I turned ready to lunge and beat him dead, but only mustered the following half-assed comment "Must be the job." This was one of those unfortunate time machine moments, where you come up with no less than ten great retorts five minutes too late. As I do not own a time machine, I left the room, never to return, tail between my legs, mind on my head.Later that day another coworker comes into my office as I am rubbing my eyes and pulling my hair in frustration. She asks me what's wrong, and I mutter something and put my head down on my desk. She asks "Is it because you're losing your hair?" She wasn't even in the meeting. And there was not an ounce of spite in her voice. It was sympathy mixed with concern. I felt like puking. Two comments in one day. I must look like Mr. Clean.So if you ever meet me, keep this in mind - YES, I KNOW I AM LOSING MY HAIR. I KNOW. YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME. ONLY AN IDIOT COULD BE LOSING HIS HAIR AND NOT REALIZE. YOU ARE AN ANNOYING COCKWEASEL.