I’m 37 years old and I consider myself fortunate to still have a full head of hair. At least, I assume I do. I suppose it’s entirely possible that the woman who cuts my hair has discovered a bald spot and has been humoring me with what beauticians commonly refer to as “air-scissoring.” But even if I do possess the luscious mane I think I have, the random outages my website has experienced will eventually liberate me from all my hair; both from stress and from pulling it out in fits of rage.