Wicked witch of the West Coast

I’m molting! MOOOLTING!

That’s right. It’s that time of year when I shed my winter head-coat in preparation for summer weather.

Now, this is going to sound like a brag, but it’s not: I have long, thick hair. Lots of hair. Lots of long hair. Enough hair to spare, is what I’m saying. And the winter, I guess my scalp goes into overdrive in an effort to keep my head warm. And it works–this thick layer of brunette padding keeps in my body heat like a boss. But in the spring, my head is like, “To hell with THIS” and it starts shedding. During this time, I can’t escape my hair. It’s everywhere. (Also, I like to rhyme. Some of the time).

So, currently, my carpet is sporting a gauche toupee. My brushes have a thick layer of padding. I pulled a drowned-rat-sized clump from my shower drain. I combed through my car upholstery with my fingers and pulled out a veritable tumbleweed of hair. I watched it roll away in the summer breeze while I played Western movie music in my head. Elegant. Beautiful.

Aaannnd cue the panic. Every year I panic. Every year I assume I have a disease or adult-onset alopecia. I start thinking of tattoo designs I would get on my scalp to commemorate this tough time of my life.

I start out all calm: “Oh, everyone had periods of excessive shedding. And this happens every year. I got this.” Then shifts into quiet concern: “Hmm. Well, this seems like a lot. But I get concerned EVERY year. And my hair is pretty long, so it makes it look like more than it is. I got this.” And then shift to panic: “Oh GOD! I’m going bald! I can’t own that look! I’m not sure I got this!”

That’s right; my brain is full of exclamation points.

You guys, I really can’t afford a decent wig.

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