Firstly thanks to Steve and Marie for their swift comments on the last post. I deliberated all weekend whether or not to write about the fears and realities of becoming a cancer bore, just because if you're writing about it at great length... well, that should tell you something in the first place.
But it is a genuinely weird set of emotions to square up. To fear you may be boring, yet find you have nothing else to consume your interests, time and conversations with.
And yes, I did consider telling 'go fuck yourself' option, but I also know he was probably terrified about bringing it up in the first place. Criticising someone who is marked as different from normal because of a disease like cancer, having a disability, or even just a sexual preference has become such a minefield in today's politically correct universe that it must have taken him some courage to do this.
Having said that, as Steve says, it's not something I can just ignore.
And today I am sporting a headscarf which makes me look like I travelled through the Hindu Kush as a young yet daring debutante and now live in a delapidated old Chelsea mansion full of cats and smoke cheroots.
So I am not going to ignore it. I'm going to get it all shaved. At 5.30pm today.
My parents and R both passed on the task this weekend in an effort to persuade me that I don't look as abnormal as I feel, and they may be right, but this straggly old man hair that I'm left with in the interim is getting me down. Watching it fall out daily is no fun, and I lack the urge to hoover my house while it's still raining hair on a daily basis.
And a five minute trip at lunchtime has confirmed that my local hairdressers will do it for a tenner. So I'm booked in later today and it feels quite liberating.