AN INDULGENT AFFAIR

Note-I'm still just a six year old girl


Today I wear my hair in a ponytail. When I was six years old I would've cut off my arm for a ponytail. For some unknown reason my mother hated my hair. It was always cut too short and I got a home permanent about every three to four months. I don't think mothers abuse their daughters with all those chemicals anymore.

It seemed like I walked around with that chemical smell my entire childhood. Each time the curling solution would burn my skin and there would be red streaks on my face and neck. It was almost impossible to pull a comb through the mass of burned, frizzy, wiry hair.

My cousins and classmates had long hair that was plaited or pulled up into a ponytail for school. For church, it was styled in loose curls cascading down their back. There I was looking like I had put my finger in an electrical socket. I won't even mention the row of school photos my mother still has on her wall. The same horrible style year after year. What did, and what does, she see when she looks at them? I wait for an apology.

Today, mom is eighty-nine years old, her mind is terrible, and her hair style hasn't changed since the 50's. She doesn't notice hurricanes or the oil spill in the Gulf. But she'll look at me, as I drive her to lunch, her eyes will squint up and she will study my hair for a minute as though she has never seen it before. "You need to get that mess of hair cut. You need a good neckline cut and a good tight permanent. You know a good perm will last you at least three months. You look terrible with long hair."

My entire adult life I've had short, and shorter hair. I don't think, even once, I questioned the idea that I had bad hair and it was best to not have much of it. But menopause did one thing good for me; I started doing what I wanted.

I do know that it's a rare woman who can wear long hair after the age of forty. Believe me, I should have a cute short cut right now. The long hair doesn't look good cascading down my back in loose curls. And I don't give a damn!

I found a stylist to care for me, my ego, and my hair. I spend more money on my hair each month than most people spend eating out or joining a health club. My husband refers to Dennis as, "My wife's man that I'm supporting."

I have my hair dyed red, with strawberry blonde highlights. It is thick, shiny, and falls down my back past my shoulder blades. I apply an expensive conditioner after each shampoo. Carefully, I apply an oil that my hair stylist practically had to buy on the black market. In a back room at the salon, I pass him a tight roll of money and he slips me a small bottle filled with this golden liquid.

I went to Wal-Mart and bought banana clips (men, just ask your wife), barrettes, regular clips, bobby pins, headbands, and ponytail ties in every color I could find. My poor little six year old heart had longed to shop from the hair accessories aisle. I have cute scarves, hats, and hand mirrors (the better to see the back of my hair).

I never pass a mirror in my house without looking at my hair. At night, after I brush my teeth, I let my hair fall down my bare back. No one had ever told me that it would feel sensual. I shake my head and it tickles my skin. I feel sexy. I brush it first one way and then another. I run my fingers through it. It is thick and soft. I try different styles with all the hair equipment that I have stored in a carved wooden box. Most women would have their jewelry in the box. My jewelry is a bright red barrette and clips in jewel colors.

At work I am very professional. My hair is up and tightly clipped, I have no time for girly things, my patients come first. For dinner out or weddings, I wear it up in a more sophisticated age-appropriate style.

But the minute I get home, my hair comes down and I put it into a ponytail. The years seem to fall away. I flip my head and my hair swings back and forth. I'm Olivia Newton John in Grease. I swear I think I look slimmer. Life just seems better.

No one knows about this private love affair. Like most affairs, it would appear shallow and self indulgent to outsiders. As I said, I don't give a tinker's damn.


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