Kissing The Hairless

I am so aesthetically sensitive that when my man, Dave, shaved off his beard a few weeks ago I freaked out. It revealed all this extra detail of him that I didn't recognise.
The way his mouth curled, the actual full form of his lips, the smiles lines, the chin shape.
I felt like I was with a different person and after much fast-tracked re-getting to know yous I ultimately had to ask him to grow it back.

So when it was decided that a long overdue bet of his was to be actualised last weekend - that being a loss for Dave - and the loss of his half-way-down-the-ribcage-long locks... we were both understandably nervous.
Not only was he going to be bald on the top (oh Samson!) but that the proceedings were to take place in the middle of a party in a hallway at midnight.
And I had to photograph it....

Dave and I prepared for the worst by arranging to meet up again in three years if it didn't work out for me. (It really was long hair).

So I watched him go nude-headed via my camera lens. As various strange clipper-wielding women fussed around his hair I started tearing my hair out as I watched them tear his hair out. I was giving myself an anxiety attack over doubt that underneath all that hair would still be the man I recognised, and loved.

I just couldn't handle the intensity of it so I decided to leave the room.
And when I returned I couldn't find Dave but it didn't matter because I met this really hot guy moments later who strangely knows a lot about me already!

Dave - who, while now feeling light-headed, needs a new job. He's previously been a business manager, and a motorcycle racer, but he head-butted a wall. He most recently worked on the federal election campaign, doing everything from writing to IT support to event planning to all round PA. He is a good bi-atch. You can borrow him...