But I’m getting ahead of myself. We should start with the night that I woke up and instantaneously thought, “My hair might be falling out!” and when I tugged gently on a few strands – in the dark, mind you – and felt them easily slide out in my fingers thought simply, “Yep – I knew it.”
While I don’t recall my daughter’s reaction the next morning when I demonstrated this cool new trick I could perform, I will never forget Jake’s total elation and eagerness to try it himself. 
Several friends followed suit that day, giggling like school girls as they drew strand after strand from my head. Who could blame them? With all of our typical neurotic habits, who ISN’T excited to add repetitive hair pulling, even if only for a few blissful moments? It is somewhat akin to the joy of popping bubble wrap. I, in fact, indulged in about a half hour of it by myself in my bathroom that night, refusing to go to bed until I removed as many loose strands as possible. I’m still not sure if it was out of dread of finding clumps on my pillow in the morning or a mere inability to resist the temptation to pull, pull, pull, pull. I suppose it was a combination… The next day I found myself sitting with my head between knees on the backyard swing – yes feeling lightheaded, but only because I was further removing as much hair as I could possibly draw out as quickly as possible. Thus I was sporting several baldish, thin areas by the time the shaving party arrived that night (though as I write this an entire week later I STILL have significant stubble, and I rub my head with a washcloth every time I shower and encourage Jake and Ellie to “pull the pricklies out” as often as they like) – I just have a freaking TON of hair to shed!
In any case, the girls finally arrived and the shaving party commenced with clippers flourishing and cameras snapping pic after pic for eternal posterity. For a moment I even sported a sassy mohawk that several Facebook friends claimed I should have kept.
So the mohawk was photographed repeatedly, then became history as Jake quite seriously took to his new barber career and started whacking at it randomly. 
My friend Laura – clipper wielder extraordinaire as mother and wife – cleaned it up, and the complaining began. Not MINE, of course - - my friends’. Those brats couldn’t contain their jealousy over what an absolutely perfectly shaped head I have! Jessica further bemoaned her envy regarding my extensive new wig collection, and soon the girls were laughing as they modeled each of them in turn. Thus the idea of a wig-wearing outing was born, though I’m afraid they might argue over who gets to where which one. *SIGH*
I personally like being simply bald. Wigs are hot and itchy; they do NOT look sexy when they blow in the wind; I’m afraid if wig bangs move AT ALL they look wacky; and I desperately miss my lazy pony tails. But I do enjoy the eager anticipation my friends at church showed for seeing which new look I was showing off when I picked Jake up from Bible school throughout this past week, and the unsolicited compliment about how darned cute my hair was from a woman at a workshop, whom I believe had no clue I was wearing a wig, was especially appreciated. 
We culminated our shaving party with mushroom fettucine made by my sis, Cari, and a third bottle of wine in which yes, I definitely indulged, because ONE night of drinking was not going to totally destroy my liver, and besides, shaving your head calls for being buzzed ;)
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