Dear Dr. Gott: I am a 43-year-old woman with an embarrassing and socially crippling condition. I have hair growth where other women don't -- on my chin, neck, stomach and buttocks. I have to shave my chin and neck every morning, and, by 6 p.m., I have stubble. I won't let anyone see me first thing in the morning, so I always sleep alone. If I want to go out at night, I have to go home and shave again first, so there is no going out with my friends after work. It has affected every aspect of my life. I don't let anyone get close to me, physically or emotionally, except for my children. I have kept this a secret from everyone for years. I have tried many over-the-counter treatments, but it just seems to get worse. I am a divorced mother of three, and I have regular menstrual cycles, so I don't know if it could be hormonal.

For Millar, it would be hair today, win tomorrow

Last year, he arrived at spring training bent on bringing a little bit of Boston into the Orioles' clubhouse, but he did not succeed in persuading management to relax the conservative facial-hair policy that prohibits anything more than a tidy mustache. This year, he arrived in camp with his usual three-day beard and began jousting the same windmill.

"It's time to end that," Millar said. "Nine straight years of losing. It's time to show some hair."

There is general agreement in the clubhouse that the team ought to leave personal grooming decisions - within reason - up to the players, but the Orioles are not a democracy. The grooming policy comes straight from the top, and owner Peter Angelos is about as likely to overturn it as he is to take one of my phone calls.

Britney, sick kids need your hair

Britney Spears, on behalf of all of America, I sincerely apologize. We looked away momentarily, and you felt neglected. So you had to go cut your hair like a 3-year-old toddler who found her mama's scissors.

"Look what I can do," you said.

We saw what you can do. Please forgive us. We were distracted by Anna Nicole Smith, the 28 or so presidential candidates and, in case you haven't heard, there's this war going on.

I whacked off part of an eyebrow once. I made up a story in which a pair of scissors defied the laws of gravity, metallurgy and child abuse, leaped out of my hand, assaulted my right eyebrow and left me with a kind of quizzical look. I don't think my mother believed me. Otherwise we would have moved to get away from the scissors-wielding poltergeist. The lucky part is I did it in the summer so Johnny Rainy and Bobby Walker didn't get to make fun of me at recess.