Can you believe that summer is over? Where did it go? I can’t believe it’s already September! Labor Day is considered the “official” end of “those lazy, lazy days of summer.” This will be the last day to fire up the barbie, as the Aussies call the barbecue, and go to the beach. In our neck of the woods the climate still allows us to go to the beach after Labor Day, but not too often as most of us have run out of paid vacation days. So off to work we go. For those of us who have children, it’s back to school and car pooling and after school activities.
In some parts of this great country, fall rolls in with crisper temperatures, sweaters, and leaves that turn gold, red, and brown. They are so beautiful.(Our leaves don’t change colors. In fact, the word leaf is incorrect for our Cali trees. The proper words is fronds. Palm trees have not figured out how to do change their fronds into gorgeous colors.) I miss Pennsylvania where I grew up. Actually when I was a girl in Pennsylvania, I loved all the seasons. Winter meant Christmas. Spring meant Easter. Summer was picnics and the public swimming pool. Fall was harvest time and the leaves changed colors before falling off the trees. As children, we would rake them up into a big pile and jump into them repeating the sequence over and over. Now that I am advancing in years (My children are starting to call me old, but that is a lie.) fall back East style and spring are my favorite seasons.
In sunny Southern California fall is still like summer. The temperatures stay up way too long in my humble opinion. I don’t enjoy sweating. I don’t like getting out of the shower and needing to get back in because of the sweats. And I don’t like it that the few strands of hair that haven’t fallen out get plastered to my head and I look like a giant grease ball. If you ever read or saw the Shakespearean play Julius Caesar, you’ll know that there is a line in the play referring to Caesar’s epilepsy that says, “He hath the falling sickness.” Well, I have the falling sickness, too. Not epilepsy, but the falling out of my hair. I guess that was one bad gene the maternal side of the family passed on to me. (The other one is the eat-all-the-food-you-can-find gene. Don’t get me started on that one. I will only say that I fell off the Medi-Fast wagon for a couple of weeks and have stopped losing weight and have even gained two big fat dastardly pounds. I climbing back on the wagon. But I digress.)
Back to my hair. I have more scalp than hair. Even our Chihuahua, politically incorrectly named, Mexican Hairless, has more hair than I do. And he leaves it everywhere. Lint roller, anyone? I thought several times about shaving my head rather than look desperate with a comb over, sidewise, and down. Last week my son and I stopped at 7-11 on my way to work. The little, little strip mall has had a barbershop in it for years. But, I noticed the barber had recently stenciled some of his services on one of the windows. Guess what he can do? He advertised that he can do COMB OVERS! I pointed it to my son and we both had a good laugh. I like laughing before work. It helps with the pain of being at work. (I am being facetious, of course.) I’ll bet he charges a lot less than the hair stylist who does Donald Trump’s comb over. (I am not going to engage in a political discussion. My daddy told me not to ever discuss religion and politics with people.) Maybe he could make my comb over and under look better because he is a professional.
The barber also offers to shave a person’s head should they wish it. I have actually thought about doing that. It might be less embarrassing than covering the bald patches. Those of you in Utah, Idaho, and back East may not have known that some women do shave their heads. California is always on the cutting edge of new trends. Get it? Cutting edge? I’m laughing at my own joke even if you aren’t. I am not so sure about doing this because I have a lot of lumps and bumps on my head. Where they came from I don’t know. I have a theory that my highly intelligent brain needed room for expansion and so that I didn’t look like the talking giant brains from an episode of Star Trek, the expansion occurred randomly. I would be a phrenologist’s dream, though.
I also asked my children, who are nothing but brutally honest, if it was time for this old gal to buy a hair prosthesis, aka wig, aka rug, aka falsie. Both of them thought I was nuts and they loudly said, “no!” So, I guess it is a no. I don’t want a $39.99 wig either. I want a really beautiful one made of human hair so that no one could tell it was a rug. When I worked in oncology, a former Hollywood wig creator decided to make human hair wigs for cancer patients, ones that wouldn’t look they cost $39.99 or came in the package with a premade Halloween costume. They were beautiful, but they also were around 2 grand. I certainly couldn’t do this with the way my bank account looks lately. Hair plugs for women are about 4 grand, so that is out also.
I guess I will just have to live with it. It could be worse. A lot of things could be worse actually. But if you are ever in town and see three mature ladies with scalp showing (unless my mom is wearing her wig) you’ll know we are all related. Stop and say “hi” and offer us any hair tips that might work.
In California there is a bumper sticker that shows a palm tree and says “no bad days.” I could have one that showed a comb and read “all bad hair days.”
May you have no bad hair days, all good days, and enjoy life. Blog you later!