I just finished participating in a community theatre production of 12 Angry Men. It was a lot of work, but a lot of fun, and I got to know a bunch of great guys, with whom I hope to keep in touch, and do more theatre again. Our show was set in the 1950s, which made things particularly difficult for me, as I have long hair, always neatly tied back in a ponytail. That wouldn’t work for the 1950s, other than to cut the tail. What to do if I wanted to keep it?
Our hairdresser had a solution. First she cornrowed my tail into fine and thin cornrows, then wrapped them into and around my other hair. She used so many bobby pins that if I had walked through an airport metal detector absolutely naked, I would have set it off.
Since I had to work each day, and needed to look “normal,” this had to be done every night of our performance, and had to be undone every night (we came to call it “getting Spoons out of his hair”). Every night, thirty minutes in the hairdresser’s chair before the show, and thirty minutes in the same chair after the show.
On our last night, I contributed towards flowers for our hairdresser (and director, and stage manager, and makeup lady), and I was glad to, especially for the hairdresser. But the hairdresser surprised me when she took one flower from the bouquet, and presented it to me. “You gave me a challenge, and I experimented, I’ll admit. I tried various things, but you cooperated, and I obviously made it work. Thank you for being so patient.”
I hope the hairdresser enjoyed the flowers that we all contributed towards. But for now, I have a bright, cheerful flower from her. It greets me when I walk into my living room. I never thought I’d enjoy getting a flower, (heck, I never thought that anybody would ever give me a flower) but I have, and this flower makes me smile every time I see it.