Tired of Bald Chicks

Joe DiMaggio had his streak of 56 consecutive games with a hit; Britney Spears her 78 straight days of dropping at least one of her kids on the floor until this amazing run was halted when her sister took the kids for the day and dropped both tots on a cement patio; and George Bush his 100-day string of avoiding the word “plumber,” a feat he would have used in a TV ad had he been running for a third term. But, ladies, stupendous as are such feats of consistency, they are as nothing to my present streak of dating bald women. The last 136 women that I have called “Darling” have either had just a touch of stubble up top or a skull with a polished sheen.

It’s not like they were devoid of cranial locks when I first noticed them across the room at a party or an opium den or a Mapplethorpe exhibit. They all started off with hair, some styled like Joey Heatherton, some like Jennifer Aniston during the third season of Friends, and others like Chewbacca in Star Wars, but something always happened between our setting the first date and the actual first date. I would go to meet, say, Gina, at a Starbucks – look around, see some bald chick, continue casting my eyes about for that hot girl with the thick Italian mop, when, bam, Little Miss Chrome Dome is waving me over to her table. “Alex, it’s me, Gina.”

I must emit a pheromone that signals members of the opposite sex to reach for the buzz-clipper. A few gals went so far as to undergo chemo-therapy during the days leading up to our first date, because, one, their zodiac sign was Cancer, and, two, they lacked the confidence to take a Lady Bic to their own scalps. And don’t get me started on all the times I was serenaded with the song “Nothing Compares 2 U” from Sinead O’Connor wannabes, but at least they had a little fuzz up top that warranted, in a few cases, a second date…until they started accusing me of being a man and thereby the root of all political evil.

Where is my girl with the long, rich-bodied locks of hair?