This week I came to the realization that I should never, under any circumstance, marry a bald man. Although the idea of being legally bound to a shiny mirror to admire my own reflection in thrills me, I l also recognize that my level of productivity would fall faster than humpty dumpty.
On Sunday evening, as I found my seat in the back of the airplane traveling to Charlotte, I had only one mission. I was going to finish reading a book that I have been nursing for over a year. When I approached seat 12 A, I sat down, fastened my seatbelt, and cracked open my novel. Little did I know that within a matter of minutes my hopes and dreams of finishing my book were going to be crushed by a bag of pretzels and a razor blade.
When the man directly in front of me settled into his seat, I took a moment to admire his bald head and smiled as I compared him to Mr. Clean. Just as I was about to lower my face back into my book, Mr. Clean slighty turns his bald head and I am able to see his scalp wrinkle. It was amazing. With every movement of his neck, I watched the exposed skin shift. When he chewed his complimentary pretzels, I watched the veins in the back of his head wiggle. I was completely mesmerized.
I found myself plotting ways to touch his baldness and making it look like an accident. I brainstormed through take off, through the safety announcements, and through the warm water that the flight attendant so kindly offered me. It just looked so smooth and the skin seemed so thin and I really just wanted to make it wrinkle with my fingertips.
I had finally decided that when the pilot turned off the fasten seatbelt sign, I was going to stand up as soon as possible and use the headrest of the seat in front of me for support. As I wrapped my fingers around the seat, I was going to accidently grace my fingertips across his head and then quickly apologize for invading his space so carelessly.
It was not until the attendant came on the radio to prepare the flight for landing that I realized that I had only read 5 pages of my book during the 50 minute flight. I should have been disappointed with myself for being so easily distracted but I was still too caught up with my plan of attack to care.
As the plane pulled up to the gate I hear Mr. Clean say to his neighbor, “ I actually just moved here from Vermont”. Naturally, I had no choice but to tell him with excess enthusiasm that I too hailed from the great green mountain state and now residing in central, VA. I was hoping that this connection would instantly bond us and that by the time we unloaded the plane, we would be established BFF and that I could just touch his head without judgment.
Fail. Mr. Clean was not at all impressed about our common link and made a few comments about how people living in the greater Burlington area don’t really count as true Vermonters. I was bummed because. A) the man that I wasted so much time watching turned out to be an asshole. B) I was certain that I was not going to be able to touch his bald head and C) I never finished that damn book.