Oh, my.

Girls (and boys) around the world for an age have faced the quandary of what to wear. But now I’m facing a whole new conundrum: what to hair.

I’m at that stage between having short hair and being bald. I haven’t washed it for four days because I know it’s going to fall out when I do, and I have a couple of things coming up in the next few days that I’d like to have hair for.

However, I think I may have been a bit optimistic, for my hair is no longer actually attached to my head. It is just sort of, well, resting there. If I tug a few strands, they come out. And I could spend all day doing it – it’s quite therapeutic.

It is completely unexpected, but I’m actually enjoying pulling my own hair out. It doesn’t hurt (in fact, I can’t feel a thing) and it’s slightly addictive. Now I understand why the guy I read about on the internet asked his kids to pull all his hair out for him. I want to tear all mine out, except I have my Mum’s birthday party tomorrow and it would be cool to have hair.

But then, I also wouldn’t mind wearing a wig. I tried on all my wigs yesterday and it felt so strange having long hair, especially long red hair. And then there’s the quandary of which style to go for – we’ve got the bright pink party wig, we’ve got the two redheads (Joana and Brandi) and we’ve got the three boring brunettes (Tiffany, Samantha and the one from Selfridges who was too posh to have a name, so I think we’ll call her Petunia.) I wonder if my personality will change on different days according to the wig I go for?

At least when I am finally bald, I won’t have to bow my head every time I walk past the hairdresser’s in the village, lest she see me with a full head of hair and get mad that I summoned her for an emergency chop on her day off three weeks ago before I went into chemo-induced hibernation.

Well, I’ve nothing better to do this Friday afternoon than go to the doctor’s now for yet more health checks. Happy Friday and a wonderful sunny weekend to you all!