When they first put me on a chemo drug for my Crohn’s in ’03, I thought I would lose all my hair. And then I started to wonder about what hair I would have if I could buy anything I wanted–hey, this could be cool!
And thought of my friend Mona Jo, who moved away several years ago in retirement.
Mona Jo once told me, with great delight, the story of when her husband turned (was it 4o or 50? Been awhile.)Â She decided it was time for him to have a midlife crisis.
So. She had short black hair; she went out and bought a blonde wig, long, too, if I remember right. Then she called her husband at work and invited to meet him for lunch.
She showed up early at the restaurant and sat down to wait for him to come in. He came in, glanced around–no Mona Jo. The clock ticked. Where WAS she? This was her idea, and he had to get back to work!
She watched him get antsier and antsier. Finally she said his name softly and he jumped! They got their table, sat down to lunch, and Mona Jo was all sweet and lovey-dovey as they ate, while, as she tells it, he was absolutely petrified. Mona JO! What are you *doing*! What if someone SEES us! They’ll think I’m stepping out on you!
Not that he was planning on it anyway, but, he never did.
In the end, I actually didn’t lose my hair on that chemo drug the six years I was on it, although I did lose a great deal of it after my flare earlier this year. I look in the mirror and think, wow, it’ll take three years to get it back to where I want it. Patience, patience; it’s growing.
But there’s a wig store near Purlescence, and every now and then the thought offers just a touch of temptation.