By Suzy Oakley

“The good Lord made only so many perfect heads; to the rest he gave hair.”
– ancient Chinese proverb (or some bald guy)

Bald is beautiful, or a husband’s chance to shine

Hey, it’s better than a comb-over

I can always count on my husband to come through for me, and being the subject of one of my harebrained blog posts is no exception.

I had already written a good chunk of this post about bald being beautiful – Bruce’s shiny head in particular – when he, unbeknown to me, decided to shave his head for a big race last month. I didn’t notice until we got home from dinner one night.

“Did you get a haircut today?” I asked as he pulled off his baseball cap.

“No. I’ve been working on it.”

He turned to show me the back. “Working on it” meant using this razor blade thingie – a device I hate – that he employs when he doesn’t feel like going to the barber shop. (I thought I had broken him of this unfortunate habit.)

I looked at the butcher job he’d done this time and said, “You need to go get somebody to fix that. Someone who has the right tools and knows what he’s doing.”

Not to worry, wife.

“I’m shaving it all off.”

Gulp.

He hadn’t shaved his head since he turned 40.

“Why?” I said.

“Aerodynamics.”

Ah. The big race.

To be honest, I was surprised he hadn’t tried this before. This man is a fast runner and, if he hadn’t been sidelined by Crohn’s disease for a few years, I have no doubt he could be among the elite runners in Arkansas, if not beyond. When he trains for a race, he’s a man on a mission.

I and my husband are are the turtle and the hare. (One look at us in motion and you can tell which is which.)

Even at age 55, my sweetheart is superfast, and this race last month was supposed to be his day to shine.

He was going to try to run a mile in under 5:10. (That’s 5 minutes and 10 seconds, my friends.)

He had been feeling pretty healthy of late, and he apparently wanted every advantage. So, the day before the race, all the hair on the back and sides his head was gone. (He kept his beard.)

To test him, I suggested he shave his legs, too. (My man is hairy. Arms, legs: fur.)

Apparently the head was enough, mainly because aerodynamics wasn’t the only reason for the shearing. He likes to shake things up every once in a while, just for something different. (For me, it’s a new nail polish or a new lipstick. For him, it usually means shaving his Vandyke or starting a beard if he’s clean-shaven.)

I hadn’t realized how big this race was to him.

BIG.

But, I’m sorry to say, he didn’t make his time goal on race day, and he was visibly upset. Talking about it over lunch the next day, he said it wasn’t so much that he was slower than goal but that he was so far off (24 seconds) that it made him question his ability to judge himself. (This is a man who normally can tell you within 1-2 seconds what pace he is running.) He had been spot on during training for this race, so it seemed (to me, at least) that he’d just had an off day.

It’s hard for me to get the frustration, but not entirely beyond my comprehension. I’m a fellow runner, after all. I understand goals and training and competition, even when you’re competing with yourself. I’m just not fast enough to win trophies, usually.

And Bruce did win a trophy that day, as usual. 🙂

My husband is truly the better half of us. Even when he’s upset, it’s often at himself. He gives others the benefit of the doubt, whereas I have extremely high expectations. He gives me a break many more times than I deserve it, more often than I give him a break. He drives me where I need (or want) to go, finishes my leftovers, cleans up after the dogs and tiptoes around the house when I’m trying to sleep. He hugs me when I cry (he has been there for more of my family’s funerals than I care to count). He sits beside me in church, even though he believes differently. He makes me laugh out loud because he’s not afraid to be goofy.

He poses for pictures for me – whenever I ask.

Bruce was bald when I met him, and I always joke that the extra space simply gives me more surface area to kiss. I don’t remember whether I thought bald was sexy before I met him, but I know it for sure now.

I’m not sure we were a match made in heaven (our wildly different faith backgrounds, you know), but I do know that he’s my shining star.

Suzy Taylor Oakley is a former copy editor (aka AP Style Nazi) with a BS in journalism from Arkansas State University. She’s a wellness coach, a running coach and Mama to the Spice Dogs (Salsa and Pepper). She lives in Cardinal country but bleeds Dodger blue. Suzy, Bruce and the Spice Dogs wag their tales in Batesville. You can find them at Suzy & Spice and To Well With You.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/OakleySuzyT