Please stop crying. Just stop. No, I get that chemo is tough. We’re all aware of that in this house. Linda, I love you, but sometimes you can just be so goddamn selfish. Can we talk for just one second about me? For months now I have supported you and protected you and done whatever I could to help us get through this. This being your cancer, of course. And love is a two-way street. It has to be in a healthy marriage. It has to be. Can you imagine what it felt like to come home with your hair swirling in the fall winds, feet barely touching the ground you were so happy, feeling like a million bucks for the first time in a long while, a LONG while, because for months it’s been how is Linda doing and how is she dealing with this and how is SHE holding up?
Look, it’s been twenty goddamn minutes and you haven’t said a word about it. The length, if I do say so myself, is perfect. But I shouldn’t have to, because you should say it. The guy at the barbershop certainly did. The cute barista at the Bean and Leaf on Fourth certainly did. Oh, she noticed, alright. She noticed good and long and I was so ready to take all of that positive energy, you know, take all of it and channel it back into caring for my beautiful wife, because I know she’s been suffering from the ravages of a disease which is so awful in so many ways.
And then silence. Twenty-one minutes and still nothing. Are you just gonna sit there and be silent? While all of this is in front of you? This new man? This titan of follicular strength? Stop crying. You don’t need to cry.
Don’t think about it like a criticism. Think about it as a series of small things you can do to improve yourself. You’re always talking about how you don’t want to live inside a bubble while all of this is going on. And that’s great, but I’m here too. I’m in the bubble. With a new haircut. And if you can’t see past your own problems and engage with that, then what are we even doing here?
You can’t even look me in the eye right now. Are you purposely doing this to try and hurt me? My hairline is right above my eyes, you know! Down at the floor, up at the ceiling, straight through me but not at the hair. Look at the volume, Linda. Look at it! It’s not a commentary on your hair, or lack thereof. Don’t be ridiculous. This is about me. It has nothing to do with you or how brave everyone thinks you are. That won’t change. But my hair has.
Oh, look at that, it’s been twenty-two minutes and twenty seconds and you still haven’t mentioned it. I told you, you don’t have to cry. You know I won’t care if you lose your hair. Although, obviously, I can’t really empathize because, I mean, look at mine. Just look at it!