When left to my own devices…

Apparently, I get crazy. I had to do something downtown yesterday morning, and asked school if the little kids could stay past naptime, which I’ve never done. J is at camp, and Dan’s still on tour. So when I was finished at 1, I had four hours left of no kids, already paid for- might as well use em, right?

Drunk with freedom, I pulled off the Pike into a Chicken Out parking lot. (Mmmmm, sante fe wrap.) But then, I was sidetracked by…a wig store! Blank, eyeless faces peered out, topped with improbable do’s. But something drew me in.

Inside, it could have been the 70s. Floor to ceiling boxes, punctuated with those coiffed heads, green shag carpet, wood paneling. Believe me, I would have been snapping pics left and right, had it not been for the signs saying “ABSOLUTELY NO CALL PHONES! NO PICTURES!”

“Ummmmm, why no pictures?” I asked the lone ancient proprietor.

“Some girls, come in here, put on wigs, take picture. Then take to hairdresser, make me look this way! Or they think it fun, a joke. No respect for the others.”

I try not to look guilty, as though I am not, indeed, one of those formers. But I also am not one of the latters- because I know he means cancer patients. My MIL has a lovely wig that she’s worn throughout her treatment, and my friend who just finished chemo always jokes that her wig has much better highlights than her real hair.  I can definitely see his point.

“What you looking for? You have lots hair,” he says, suddenly suspicious.

I deliberately misunderstand. “Something short- straight bangs, really dark,” I say, suddenly decisive in the midst of this impossible array of choices. I’m thinking Mia from Pulp Fiction. I want to be a spy.

He comes back with several boxes, and I watch another woman who’s pulling out long hairpieces. “For a wedding,” she explains, and I nod. He comes back with several boxes, and I tuck my hair up into a nylon cap as though I do it every day of the week.

He hands me a wig, and I hold it for a second, suddenly reluctant to actually follow through on this. But he and the woman both watch expectantly, and I awkwardly pull the wig on, front to back, plucking out the bangs from the cap as I settle it. I look at them before I look at me in the mirror, and the woman steps forward and smooths down some flyaways on “my” hair.

“it could really be you,” she says softly, and I turn and look.

Huh. It really kind of could. I was startled by how fun it was to do something drastically different, knowing it’s impermanent. That as much as it looks like it could be you, it’s not.

I tried on three or four more, sticking to the short and dark theme. One felt just right, and I tossed it on the counter, where it lay as though someone’d just tossed their hair in  a corner.”I’ll take this,”I said, nonchalant.

The man looked surprised, mildly pleased, but discomfited. He’d pegged me for a looky-lu, but maybe I was one of the others after all. Maybe all that hair was about to go away.

“I just like it,” I assured him.

Back at school, when the children saw the box in the car, they clamored for a surprise. Oh, silly children. “Close your eyes!” I said. So they did. And then opened them and screamed, “AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

“Mommy, you dyed your hair so FAST!” E said.

“No, no, this is pretend hair- a wig! Mommy’s real hair is under.”

“Take it off. Take off your new hairs,” W said, with grump.

“No. I don’t want to.” I said, and they both looked at me with mild shock. This new dark haired mommy was a tough cookie.

So we spent the rest of the evening in disguise, wandering the aisles of Target.

“When are you going to take that black wig off???” E yelled in the middle of the toy aisle, her eyes twinkling.

“Maybe never,” I said, tossing a Yo Gabba Gabba toy in the cart. “I might glue it on.”

“Just kidding,” I added to the big pairs of eyes staring at me.

So. Wig party at my house, ladies…name your date.

We’re heading out to Baltimore now…Chef Duff is making my birth sister’s groom’s cake for tomorrow’s wedding, and we’re checking out the making of.

Saturday, I’m a bridesmaid in her wedding, then heading directly to the Clutch show to bring Dan home. That’ll be metal- moshpit in a bridesmaid dress.:)

Pics here on Monday… of the cake, not me in a dress.:) Have a great weekend!