When the hair falls out, it is patchy and not vaguely pretty.
“This isn’t working for you, is it?” says Tita. “I think we need to give you a nice badass Sinéad O’Connor vibe.”
John performs my first official shave with his electric clippers on the front porch where I used to give the boys their trims. “Lift your chin really high and try not to breathe deep or anything.”
“No problem,” I say. “I haven’t had a deep breath in years.”