From today's issue of Modern Woman Magazine

Dear Whoever:

I am a woman in my thirties, living with a gorgeous, dreamboat sex machine of a man (emphasize "machine" in that last list of descriptions and soft-pedal the "gorgeous" and "sex" parts). I've never been happier, except for a few minutes when I was six and there was a double episode of The Muppet Show one Saturday morning. Oh, and yesterday, I had a killer cheese sandwich. God, it was good. Give me a second here...ok, yes, I'm still happy to be living with this guy. Whatever his name is.

Seriously, though, he's always been a tad vain. About his looks, about his intellect (he reads a lot, but he won't show me what, and when I quiz him, he gives evasive answers), and about his skin (he had some pisser acne attacks in high school, or so I've heard). But this is a new wrinkle.

He's losing his hair.

Not a lot. He's not bald yet or anything. And he probably won't be for a while. But every time I see the top of his head (which isn't often--he's a lot taller than I am), I see scalp.

I can't tell for sure, but I think he's picking up on his hair loss. When he stands in front of a mirror, he picks at his hairline and frowns disconsolately. He's starting to collect baseball caps, and this is a guy who believes "professional sports will choke the life out of whatever cultural heartbeat this screwed-up nation has left in it."

So: do I tell him? Because he might already know. But if he doesn't know, and he finds out later I did, he'll be pissed. Actually, he'll be pissed no matter what I do, but I'm just trying to minimize the hassle I'll have to deal with. I'm in a band. I have to practice.

So, any advice, advice columnist?

Sincerely,

Dirty Rock Grrl