I can’t leave. I’ve tried a couple of times but my hair is keeping me inside. I went to the beauty parlor yesterday. Since then, I have surreptitiously observed a few silly grins on family member’s faces which quickly disappear if I look at them directly. Eddie told me to pull up the hood of my sweater.
Did you ever see the retro hairdoo that Jenifer Lopez was sporting at some Hollywood event? My hair looks like that but shorter. It’s a big Donna Reed bubble sitting on my head. I went to sleep last night hoping that it would go away. It looked just as perky this morning.
Why don’t I wash it out? I’m a coward. I don’t want to know what my hair really looks like under all this gel, harspray, blow-dried mass. I have an odd kind of repulsivo fascination with it. It is hideous but it is mine.
I think I have gained some insight into hairstyles of previous eras. They didn’t wash their hair very often because they didn’t have to! If you put enough stuff on it and play with it for a long time it doesn’t need to be washed; it looks the same day after day.
I would like tie a scarf around my head, put on overly large sunglasses, a raincoat and pretend that I am in a french black and white film while I shop for groceries. Perhaps I will bring smiles to more than just family members today.
