"Grey hair is God's graffiti." Bill Cosby
I have been going grey since my early twenties. I still vividly remember discovering those coarse, renegade strands of hair corkscrewing their way out of my hairline while I was looking in my car's rearview mirror in the early 1980s. I almost drove off the road when I saw them!Having grey hair has never been a problem for me. It was what it was. I couldn't imagine having to dye my hair on a regular basis. Good grief! My hair grows so fast I'd have a grey streak constantly running down the middle of my head.
But things have been changing.
You may remember a story I wrote about the French woman who asked if my sister Chrissy was my daughter at a Bastille Day fete in the south-west of France. She demurely asked, "Est-elle votre fille?" I was stunned. I wanted to respond, "Yeah, I GAVE BIRTH TO HER WHEN I WAS SIX YEARS OLD YOU IDIOT!" But my French was not good enough to say that. Instead I politely answered, "Non, elle est ma soeur, madame."
Me and my new friend in Castelfranc, France. 2011
Honestly. Who asks those kinds of questions? Do I really look like I could be the mother of a 47 year old? Wait. Don't answer that.
Fast forward three years.
My Dad suffered a massive heart attack and died a few weeks ago. While my sisters and I were at his hospital bedside, not one but TWO nurses in different departments asked me if I was Floyd's wife. WTF? Seriously? You think I look old enough to have an 81 year old husband?
While on bereavement leave, I went to my hairdresser's salon to have my eyebrows waxed. I told the hairdresser about being mistaken for my 81 year old father's wife. I made an appointment then and there to have 'lowlights' put in my hair.
Fast forward three years.
My Dad suffered a massive heart attack and died a few weeks ago. While my sisters and I were at his hospital bedside, not one but TWO nurses in different departments asked me if I was Floyd's wife. WTF? Seriously? You think I look old enough to have an 81 year old husband?
While on bereavement leave, I went to my hairdresser's salon to have my eyebrows waxed. I told the hairdresser about being mistaken for my 81 year old father's wife. I made an appointment then and there to have 'lowlights' put in my hair.
Before picture. (You gotta love a salon that offers its clients coffee and Baileys to warm them up after they've walked a whole two blocks through the falling snow to their hair appointment.)
Kena the magician.
After photo of the new do. Kena calls this my 'winter-pixie hairstyle'. Because, she says, I am so artsy! Did you hear that, nurses and French woman? ARTSY.
Won't my students be surprised when I open the classroom door tomorrow morning? I wonder if they will even recognize me.
I don't even recognize me!
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