That’s not my age, despite all evidence to the contrary. This is my 200th post and, in recognition, I thought it should be a momentous one.
I am going to get my hair cut tomorrow.
Regular readers will understand that this is truly momentous, enough to keep all those slow posts-in-waiting smouldering a little longer behind the scenes. Other readers I will refer here and here.
“Have you noticed” said a notoriously tactless and insensitive male of my acquaintance, “Have you noticed that your hair’s rather curly?” I sighed. I tried to summon a suitably withering are-you-an-alien-from-another-galaxy glare. Deep breath. “Well, there are mirrors in our house and, oddly enough, I do tend to take a glance while I’m brushing my teeth in the morning. Of course I’ve noticed, you ****”.
But I suppose I’m gradually getting used to the wide-eyed stares and take-two looks from those who haven’t seen me for a while. Earlier in the summer we went to big sister’s cottage in Co Donegal for a week’s holiday and all four sisters were there at once, which must be something of a record. They (the other three) took one look at me and fell about laughing. Sisterly love, eh? Continue reading
Hair. Or lack of it. I’ve started dreaming about hair recently. I’ve dreamt about washing it, brushing it, tying it back. I’ve been wondering where my hairbrush is and contemplating the shampoo supplies once more. This is all prompted by the No. 1 fuzz, colour indeterminate, that is currently adorning the top of my head. And eyebrows to match. New hair; it must be spring! Anyhow, there’s a good chance that it’ll grow back curly as apparently that’s what often happens after chemotherapy.
The last time I had curly hair I was about three years old; Continue reading
I’m getting good at this. Wearing my wig, that is. I had a meeting to go to today so wore my wig instead of my much more comfortable buff. I detoured on the way home to buy Christmas cards and have a coffee, and bumped into a couple I knew in the queue.
“Oh you’ve changed your hair style! It looks really nice!”
“Thank you”, smiling sweetly.
“Is it easy to look after?”
“Oh yes, very easy” trying not to smirk.
“It must be great for swimming.”
Aloud: “Definitely easy for swimming”. (Thinks: I could just take it off and stuff it in a bag. If I could go swimming, of course.)
And I managed all this with a straight face.
