If my big toe hadn't been throbbing, I would've thought I was dreaming.But I'd just stubbed my toe on a leg of our claw-foot tub and celebrated with a string of expletives learned from my older brother.
"Everything all right," my wife called from the downstairs kitchen where she was preparing lunch. "Do you need me to come up?"
Now wouldn't that be something, I thought. "Just stubbed my toe. Be down in a few minutes."
Still holding my manuscript, she straightened up and stepped out of the heels. I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice. "You're not as tall as I imagined." 4'10" at best.
She smiled. "I rather imagined you would, you know, have some."
The “no hair” accusation stung. My dad had been bald as far back as I could remember and I’d lost most of my hair in my thirties. Being appalled by the comb-over so many of my peers resorted to, I’d chosen to razor my head as well as my face at the dawn of each new day.
I thought…hoped we were done talking about my appearance, but no such luck.