Mirror, Mirror, What the *&%#+!?

Or, “Hair today … Gone tomorrow”

Back to this aging business. I may have a slight advantage. Agatha Christie once remarked that it was good to be married to an archaeologist, because the older you got the more interested they became in you. I am not sure this applies in my situation, because Mr. GG does not pay attention to a lot of the girly aspects of my life. He has come to accept them, and after raising a daughter and a passel of female cats, he has an uncanny sense of when to ignore a lot of stuff. And I try not to whine about my appearance, and I never, Never, ask him if something makes me look fat, because, after all, he is a male and a trained scientist to boot, and he tells the truth.

After I hit 40, and things started downhill, I had a little time to acclimate. At first it was my eyes. I needed bifocals, and they don’t make contacts strong enough to counter my nearsightedness, so I had to start wearing glasses again. Oooookay. Then the gray started invading my glossy (cold water rinses, remember?) locks, but that is why god invented hair color. Meanwhile the ponderous forces of gravity and time were at work, thickening and broadening my body. Okay, okay, so the ponderous forces of laziness and inertia were also factors in this, and then I got slammed with Epstein Barr Virus (aka Yuppie Flu) which knocked me on my butt for a year or two. I emerged from this decade feeling like Jabba the Hut.

Faced with a body that seemed out of my control, I dealt with the stuff I could handle. Shoes. Eyeliner. Purses. And hair.

When I first met Mr. GG, I was living in the woods, no showers, no electricity, so in the interests of simplicity I had a perm. Mr. GG fell in love with a curly headed (i.e. not genuine) version of me. Perhaps because I was often dirty, sweaty and in field clothes, he thought he was getting the real deal. It’s kinda sweet how men can be so innocent about some stuff, isn’t it?

Every time I read a fashion magazine, I wish I could wear some of the bright, skimpy, fun outfits I see. But in real life, that would violate several rules of taste and decency. If spandex laws were enforced, I would be doing hard time.

That leaves me with hair to play around with. In some ways I am a stylists’s dream. Cause I am generally up for anything. My flat, limp, stringy hair is so awful, that nothing you can do to it makes it look worse. Just different.

Recently, before a cross-county trip which involved visiting relatives I hadn’t seen for a while, I came home with the back of my head whipped into a frenzy of reddish spikes. I figured I had some time to alert Mr. GG, but he was unexpectedly home for lunch, so he got the full effect without warning. He was drinking a soda, and cola spewed through his nose. And, okay, I was a little defensive, since this was really a NEW LOOK, even for me, and we had a lively exchange of opinions. When he stopped laughing and shaking his head, he said, “Well, I’ll have 2000 miles to get used to it. And it will grow out”.

Mr. GG so doesn’t get the female self esteem thing sometimes. Luckily my friends and family are a little better at it. So they said things like, “It’s cute”. Or, “Huh. I bet it’s easy to take care of”.

In my defense, I must tell you that a few weeks later, I was lunching with a friend at a trendy vegetarian restaurant, and when we met, we each said, “You’ve changed your hair!”. While we were hugging and waiting to be seated, this lovely, lovely goth boy, barely twenty if he was a day, and sporting a bleached blonde mohawk that got wound into some kinda bun at the back of his head, stopped to tell me he liked my hair. He then went on to advise me about products that would do a much better job of spackling those spikes away from my head.

Anyway, I’ve had to maintain this style for a few months, to prove something to Mr. GG. And I hope it isn’t that I am an idiot. Maybe I do it just so he won’t get complacent. Although, as he sometimes snorts, “As if!”. I got a new haircut this week, and I am letting the spikes grow out, and folks, it is not gonna be pretty. But hopefully it will distract from the crows feet, Horrid Age Spots, etc.

This is all part of personal growth. You know, the Serenity Prayer? The part that says, “Give me the courage to change the things I can”? Well, I’m still plugging away.


One Response to “Mirror, Mirror, What the *&%#+!?”

  1. shewhosees Says:

    dear goddess queen, those crows feet and Horrid Age Spots are years of wisdom and knowledge that younger women know nothing about.

    and you see, the young man did not see crows feet and Horrid Age Spots, he saw the cool hair style because he knew you were a free spirit whose not afraid to be you. And that’s what being real is all about.

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