The Suitcase Lady


March 29, 2011, 9:13 pm

Having recently seen an exuberant production of Hairspray, my thoughts wandered to hair. Unlike those girls in that 60’s era musical, I am hair illiterate. I don’t even know how to operate a can of hairspray. The only time a can of hairspray has ever been on our property, it was being used to ignite a potato cannon.

Growing up lacking sisters and a Barbie doll, I never played “hair” when I was little. My mother chose sensible braids and bangs for me. I was an active kid, and those braids were always a mass of tangles. Hair and torture were synonyms for me as a child.

The braids morphed into a ponytail which required a rubber band and minimum hair skills. By college, ponytails were woefully out of fashion, but I remained faithful to the style. Being an art major, I did not want hair flopping in my eyes and getting into paint, clay, power tools and printing presses.

Somewhere in my twenties, I finally freed my hair and gradually shortened it up. And it has remained that way ever since with one addition… I intend to remain a redhead. I may be prejudiced, but I’m inclined to agree with Mark Twain who said that,”While the rest of the species is descended from apes, redheads are descended from cats.” I like cats.

After a disastrous experience with a hairdresser who turned me into a brunet, I found my current stylist. Mary is a very glamorous, stylish grandma who understands that I can’t benefit from all the unique and lovely hairstyles she is capable of creating. She knows that the most fantastic hairstyle in the world is useless if its owner can’t duplicate it after the first wind gust or trip to the shower. Mary keeps me looking like me, a wash and wear redhead, and for that I am exceedingly grateful.

Hairspray, The Musical

Potato Cannon

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