HELLO CLOSET MY OLD FRIEND

 

The other day I stood in front of my closet and said hello to my clothes. I assured them I still loved them … well some of them anyway … and that I hoped to wear them again soon. I commiserated with them about how boring it was to just hang out doing nothing all day. I told them it wasn’t anything personal, and yes, I know the sweats and the old shirts were going out every day and it wasn’t fair … I know all that … it’s just that I don’t want to ruin them slopping around gardening and painting. I mean they are all so nice and special. For Pete’s sake, some of them still have their new tags on them, and were supposed to be travelling this spring. I get it, it really is the pits. But, I don’t want them to have any contact with all the bleach, soft scrub, vinegar, and other noxious stuff required for housework. And since that is pretty much my new world, I will have to get back to them when I get my old life back.

But it isn’t only the clothes, is it? There is the hair thing as well. I have found that it is better to wear a mask for anonymity as much as for good health. The grey in my hair has become super aggressive and now blends perfectly with my overall skin tone. The result is that I have morphed into a sort of ghostly apparition that shows up only in shadows, and looks best in writing. 

However, it isn’t that it is so out of control and blah, but that it is so always in my face. Little bits escape whatever method of control I utilize. They dangle coyly over my eyebrow, or just glance off my ear. I have at last become used to the surprise effect and am no longer startled into thinking there is a mouse dashing across the room. But the little tickle on the eyelid from those old grey hairs is beyond annoying. Medusa and her snakes-for-hair has nothing on my viral coiffure. 

The good news is the mask and glasses combination keeps me honest about touching my face, even when the twee tresses tickle. The bad news is that it makes me somewhat snarky and it becomes a challenge to behave normally when being tortured by your hair. Not that normal is normal anymore … if you know what I mean.