No one rents space in my head!

At least that's what a caller told Michael Medved once (as told by his #1 Meadhead Gold Platinum Fan Club fan, JoLynn Bell. Btw, i just learned a month or so ago that the L in my mom's name is capitalized. Dis. Kind of like learning in the MTC that the B.O.M. had an account of Jesus visiting the Americas. Double Dis. Parental oversight, apparently). My mom thought that was so funny, and I did too, especially when spoken by a NY or Boston tough guy (Reba and I have actually been to NY for a few days and miss it to death! We formed such deep roots there and miss our city life and our dear, dear friends so much. But now we have a New York room in our house, and are naming our next kid Brooklyn Bridge, or Brooklyn Bridgette, if a girl) .

Anyway, point is, I was recently reminded, by some lame jokes on my lame brother's blog, of something that once rented space in--but as it turns out, not on--my head. Male pattern baldness. One day, a few months before I was through with my mission (we have a North Carolina room too. And a North Carolina back yard.) I was shampooing my hair in the shower and happened to look at my shampoo covered hands and saw a few hairs. "Weird," I thought. Sometime after I looked at the back of my head in the mirror and wondered if my natural part or cowlick or whatever you call that, was the beginning of a bald spot. Over the next few weeks I became convinced that it was. I was going bald. Fast. It didn't help that my companion was a 19 year old Hispanic guy whose hairline was locked in battle with his eyebrows for real estate. Let's call it the Spanish-Amhairican war.
The few fellow God's Army commandos I confided my woes in inspected my head and told me I was crazy. But I knew they were just being nice. Guys are pretty sweet when missionaries, you know.
But going bald isn't the biggest deal, right? Happens to a lot of good fellows. You have to understand that some dudes look good with shaved heads. I'm not one of those dudes. Under the best of circumstances, my sister in law tells me I look like the giant in Big Fish. Now imagine him with a buzz. Exactly.

Anyway, it turns out I wasn't going bald, and am still, 7 years later, keeping it real in back (Hey, we all have troops who retreat a bit in the front, right? Just to hold the line? If you don't it means you're immature and know nothing about military science, or that you just have hair plugs, like this guy). Problem solved. But I only realized this after a few months of serious neurotic misery. After that, I decided to not let anything rent space in my head.

Except Sharks. They still have a definite cubicle in there, i'll be honest.

And one corner office for rivers. I'm haunted by them.