More Hair

The hair situation continues to escalate. Fortunately I got through Monday without a cancellation call from my hairdresser. Go drugs go. Go drugs go. I hope those painkillers and anti-inflammatories are doing the trick. Meanwhile, my hair is filling with cobwebs where it has been brushing the ceiling. And I discovered over the weekend that the only thing worse than shopping for a swimsuit when you’re fat and middle-aged is shopping for a swimsuit when you’re fat, middle-aged, and need a haircut. Can’t someone invent a shrink mirror for the Macy’s dressing rooms that will slenderize your reflection and make your hair relax? Sit, no lie down, no roll over. My hair needs obedience school. A couple of nights ago I came in late from the grocery store. While bringing the bags in with Ron, I noticed a low-flying bat gliding through the fir trees in front of the house. “Look,” I showed Ron, “there’s a bat out here.” He replied, “It must have seen your hair.” Thursday. I just need to make it to Thursday.