Am I underselling?  I feel like I’m underselling.

First, a life lesson with the bald man.  Should you wake up on a chilly Friday morning feeling more than a little nauseous, it is often bad policy to a) go to the gym and log forty minutes on the Stairmaster and b) subsequently experiment with soy milk.  In fact, let me go on the record saying that all soy milk experiments will probably end badly.  If I’m oversimplifying the case, so be it. 

Natheless, on to the results!

If you scored -19 to -10, d’oh!  You are probably the sort of willful hussy featured prominently in those “Victorian Anonymous” novels, complete with an English accent, flaring nostrils, and a starched haughtiness that makes you compellingly attractive to the earthiest of stableboys.  That’s all conjecture on my part, of course, since a score this low means that you not only skipped questions but wrote in your own answers to those you actually condescended to respond to.  Repudiate the bald man if you must, my saucy malaperts, but mind your manners at equestrian events.

If you scored -10 to 0, congratulations!  You are probably a well-adjusted go-getter, the kind who spends half her time at power lunches and the other half hoping that Dynasty-caliber shoulder pads come back in style in 2009.  The bald man would only slow you down as you claw your way to the top, though he would make a respectable cocktail-party husband who would only scold you mildly for your various infidelities and water-fountain catfights.  If you’re looking for a torrid lowbrow fling, the groundskeeper might be more your style.  The bald man is the upstairs maid type; he’s got the gams for it.

If you scored a 0-10, meh!  You are probably the crazy cat lady on your block, the kind who can’t see the harm in adopting just one more stray.  You may in fact already have a bald man inhabiting your home, slinking around somewhere behind your collection of commemorative Elvis plates and sundry tchotchkes.  The good news is that the bald man is considerably less likely to gnaw on your corpse than your many feline friends when you pass away some Sunday evening in the middle of 60 Minutes.  His table manners could use some work, but he’s a finicky eater.

If you scored 10-20 points, begorrah!  You are almost certainly a Brontë, possibly an Earnshaw.  You will crave the forbidden caresses of the bald man, and he will grow hair simply so he can tousle and tear it as he roams the storm-swept moors at midnight, calling your name in agonies of various denominations.  So you’ve got that going for you, which is nice.

If you scored 20-30 points, crikey!  Chances are good that you have recently suffered some sort of head injury, leaving you with an underdeveloped amygdala and an overdeveloped pineal gland.  (If you find yourself staging scenes from From Beyond in your spare time, by the bye, call me; I’ve got a working resonator and a straitjacket in your size.)  Please be aware that the bald man is only a figment of your damaged imagination, but at least he’s not as dangerous as the purple turtle, who has designs on your toothbrush.  You didn’t hear it from me, but think twice before you floss.  Ixnay on the ossflay.

If you scored 30-40 points, my stars and garters!  You’re probably me, and you’ve apparently taken up crossdressing.  This would help to explain your Alexis Arquette anxiety, all the Psycho memorabilia, and your penchant for Bravo.  For future reference, stick to fall colors, avoid empire waists, and really do something to bring out those cheekbones.  And don’t forget to turn on the “No Vacancy” sign.

If you scored 40-50 points, zounds!  You are clearly a woman of taste, discrimination, and superlative whimsy and accordingly equipped to make the bald man your very own passion puppet.  He wears an 18-inch collar, gives excellent footrubs, and comes complete with his own set of safewords.  When next you see him, feel welcome to grab him by the lapel and inform him that he has been puppetized (and not in the Jim Henson way; please be clear on that score), at which point he will follow you back to your dungeon.  You may wish to construct a dungeon beforehand, but a breakfast nook with track lighting will serve just as well.  The bald man makes a mean omelette in a surprisingly servile way.

If you scored 50 or more points, wiggedy fribbles!  You are one kwazy, mixed-up filly, but you’re pretty nifty in the bald man’s book.  In fact, you’re probably indexed and footnoted already, most likely with cross-references to Veronica Mars, Pee-wee Herman, and Nietzsche.  Although your friends and relatives will naturally disapprove of your penchant for the bald man, you owe it to yourself to indulge.  The bald man is the Häagen-Dazs of menfolk, after all, and while you can never justify the calories, you cannot help but concede to that creamy, hand-crafted masculinity.  And the unnerving metaphors.