My husband is bald.  Elegantly, handsomely bald.  This has been a fact of his life, and mine, for more than ten years.  It snuck up on him when he was in mid-thirties and completely overtook him by the time he was forty.  That’s when I gave him a buzz clipper for his birthday.  His face fell so far he looked like a Dali.  I pictured a kind of ‘Out of Africa’ hair-washing scene with me in the Robert Redford role (damn it).  David saw a ‘Mommy Dearest’ Bon Ami moment (No more silly comb overs!).  After he’d buzzed it off with a number 3 blade–just a hint of spikiness, not a ‘do’ per se but not an invalid-ish hairless-ness–he never went back.