Mr. Demonic’s “Blond” Hair

Hopefully, this will be a short post, but you never know. Sometimes, just as I do when I get together with good friends, I run on and on. When I chat so long that my butt gets a cramp, you know I’m having a good time.

Today, I would like to mention my other half, Mr. Demonic.

I met Mr. D at our place of employment, almost 25 years ago. I think I mentioned that in a previous blog post, but I’m way too lazy (and busy) today to look it up. (I’ve been on WP for almost a year, and my posts are many – almost unmanageable.) The first thing that struck me about my husband was that he was very good looking. No, really. He is extremely handsome. I imagined at the time that he was too handsome for me to catch, however, at the time I didn’t realize that he thought I was very good looking, too. Many people (my husband and my internet boyfriend among them) think I suffer from poor body image. I like to think I’m realistic.

Either way, I caught him, and I’m not throwing him back.

But back to Mr. D. He used to have a magnificent head of hair, dark brown, very thick, not wavy, but it would go where he told it to. Contrast that with my locks, thin, straight, and it’s unruly, much like my teenage daughter. It doesn’t matter how much “product” I put in mine, in thirty minutes time, it ends up straight. I used to go the permanent wave route. That was the only way I could obtain some semblance of body. I’m way too lazy (and cheap) these days to subject myself to routine chemical treatments to make my hair bouncy. Mr. D buys one small bottle of hair goo, and it lasts six months. He just puts a little in every morning, and still looks like a hunk by bed time.

Over time, though, Mr. D’s hair has changed. He’s aging. We all are. Mr. D’s head started sporting gray hairs at the tender age of 33. Ms. MiniD wasn’t even born yet. My father, who is 24 years older than the two of us, remarked at the time that Mr. D should go to the drug store and by some hair coloring for men. Grecian Formula. My father, who is now 76, didn’t have much gray then and still has very little gray hair.

Perhaps it is the stress of owning your own business that has contributed to Mr. D’s gray hair. It is something to ponder. His PhD college professor brother is six years older, and while the top of his head is thinning, he doesn’t really sport a lot of gray hair. Of course, he has a cushy job where he only teaches two days a week and has tenure and a retirement plan. Mr. D works seven days a week. Mr. D’s sister, who was a year older, was a blond Scandinavian with a full head of hair (well, until chemotherapy, that is) until she passed away last year.

Mr. D’s father ended up a bald guy. Since Mr. D favors his father in many ways, height, body style, they way they carry themselves, etc., I am most certain that in ten years or so, Mr. D will end up a bald man too. That’s quite all right with me.

However, aging and turning gray has not set well with my husband. For the last several years, Mr. D has proclaimed that his hair is turning “blond.” He is claiming that since his sister was a natural blond, the blond gene was surely going to rear its ugly head and claim him as a victim. It would only be a matter of time. So this is his theory.

At present time, Mr. D’s temples are beyond gray. They are decidedly silver. The rest of his head is more salt than pepper.

(Now, I should interject here that I used to color my own hair on a regular basis. It was not to cover gray hair, but was back when I liked being a red-head. However, I am part Asian, and no one has manufactured a hair dye that can change my hair to Lucille Ball’s shade of red. Or a certain Tigereye I know. I have since stopped coloring, and even though I am nine months older than Mr. D, have only a few strands of gray. It must make him very angry.)

The other day, Mr. D got his haircut, came into work and announced that his barber managed to cut all of his gray hair out and so now he is blond. Of course, this results in rolled eyes and stifled laughter among the office staff.

I imagine he will stop talking about being blond when he is completely bald.

I’m In Love With An Old Man

I didn’t think it would ever happen to me, but it has. If you would have said this to me thirty years ago, I would have totally said “No way!” There’s no way I’d be in love with an old man. And no, it’s not Richard Gere… (Sheesh! I just mention he’s hotter now than before and I get pelted with “oh, she loves Richard!” na nee na nee naaaa neeee…)

My “old man” is my husband. And I’m still in love with him.

I wasn’t aware of how old he’d gotten until I looked at him sleeping on Saturday night. I couldn’t sleep, and he was out like the proverbial light, snoring up a storm.

I couldn’t roll him over, because he’s too big. It’s not polite to poke, so I just looked at him in the light of the TV screen. My husband is about nine months younger than me, but his hair is now almost completely gray. While I sometimes color mine, I sometimes go months without, so I know I have a few gray strands, but nothing more. Gray hair must be the result of the high-stress worry of owning your own business. (I don’t know why mine is still brown.) His hairline is receding a bit now, too. This is scary to me, because his father was bald by the time he was 60. Don’t say this in front of him, but my husband and his father look very much the same. If the loss of hair is any indication, my husband will be bald soon enough. I am not too sure about being in love with a bald man, but I guess I should never say “never.”

I also noticed he’s got a lot of wrinkling going around his eyes. I hadn’t noticed it much before. He golfs a lot, so it’s probably from sun damage. He doesn’t smoke, except for the occasional cigar on the golf course, so it’s not tobacco that is contributing to his wrinkles. I don’t think they are happy wrinkles either, not like the ones Santa Claus has. These are stress-related wrinkles.

My husband also has the little paunchy stomach thing going on. This, even though he exercises an hour and a half every day. Of course, I have a paunchy stomach too, but I’m blaming mine on food. Also, drinking wine with dinner doesn’t help if you want to maintain a slim physique.

I remember growing up back in the late 60s and early 70s. People would call their significant others “old men” or “old ladies.” That’s probably because a lot of young people weren’t married but just shacking up (a colloquialism for cohabitation). “Hey, man, I gotta check with my old lady, man.” My dad called my mother that, not when she was in earshot, of course. Sometimes people would call their parents “old man” and “old lady.” It was a term of endearment, a nicer way of saying you were shackled to the old ball and chain.

Now my darling handsome husband no longer has a thick brown mane of hair and is slightly wrinkled and paunchy. However, he’s still really good looking. Unlike Richard Gere, I don’t know that his looks actually improved with age. When he was younger, he had a way about his walk (probably because he is tall and thin) and a nice small rear end. He  had a friendly smile and could look at me like he could see clear through  my soul to the other side of the room.

My husband is still very good looking, but in a different way. He looks more mature and wise, instead of young and wise-cracking.

It’s something you could only notice in the middle of the night.