How I Annoy My Husband: My Hair

                                    (with illustration by Kat Russo)

    Part I

    At least twenty times each day I ask Paul, “Have you seen my hair?”

The question doesn’t mean I have lost my hair, but it might mean two completely different things:

 “Doesn’t it look ridiculous?” Or

“Hey, it actually looks good at this moment!”

    Poor Paul is left to decipher what I mean by my expression and tone of voice. He usually glances at my face and hair to see if I’m smiling with glee or shaking my head with a despondent frown.

    Since the COVID-19 pandemic began ten years ago (it seems that long ago anyway,) I have decided to avoid getting my hair cut. I don’t want to expose myself to indoor areas in close proximity to a possible virus carrier for a prolonged period of time.

     I have had bangs for the past 35 years and letting them grow has been traumatic.  I pin them back with bobby pins, clip them to the side, or use a clip with a side part.  The rest of my hair used to be worn in a short cut, so now it’s growing out in what looks like a 70’s mullet combined with an 80’s perm.  None of those styles is currently fashionable nor particularly attractive.  So when I wake up in the morning I’m full of despair.  I shouldn’t even look in the mirror, but of course I do. 

    The face staring back at me is usually partially hidden behind a mass of unkempt brown tangles rising several inches in random directions.

    “Have you seen my hair?”

    I ask Paul, even though he’s been sitting across from me at the breakfast table and was hopefully looking at my face between spoonfuls of cereal.

    Paul has stopped saying, “Oh no, we’re talking about your hair again.” He’s begun saying, “Your hair looks nice.” This comment prompts me to jump up and check my reflection in the small kitchen mirror on the other side of the counter to see if it’s changed somehow. He often says it and waits and watches to see how long it will take me to look at that mirror. Sometimes I try and resist, but my inner thoughts will go something like this:

    I wonder if my hair actually does look good? How amazing would that be!

    Or

    Maybe he’s kidding and it looks ridiculous.  I’d hate to miss a good early morning laugh!

    Usually, it’s the latter and usually I’m right.

    Immediately after I wash it, my locks wave into something that has me resembling Shirley Temple in the movie “The Good Ship Lollipop.”  She was probably about six years old when she made that movie.  Not a good look for a woman of my advanced age.

    As soon as I put on a hat, my hair flattens into an uneven mess in some sort of shag again, not currently fashionable nor particularly attractive.  So when we take our early morning walk before my shower, I put on my hat with a small prayer.

Dear Lord, I pray I will not have to take off my hat for any reason whatsoever.

    Yes, there are more important prayers and I promise I say them too. Right after the hair one. 

    It’s amazing how a bad hairdo can ruin a person’s day, or give them a lift.  I mean, your hair surrounds your face in a kind of frame, right?  But it also can be an indication of your physical and emotional health. A woman can wear no make-up (like me during the pandemic,) but if her hair looks horrible, we think there’s definitely something wrong with her.  I should try and attend one of my Zoom meetings without fixing it and see how long it takes for the women to shout,

 “OH MY GOD, are you ok??”

    I’m not saying men wouldn’t notice, but they probably wouldn’t--not until the women shouted out with sincere concern and offers to bring food to an obviously very sickly person.

    My Hair, Part II 

    The other question Paul has been hearing since the pandemic (and for many years before) is:

    “Should I color my hair?”

    This is another trick question. If Paul says, “No” it means he doesn’t like how it looks when I color it or that he doesn’t care either way.  If he says “Yes” it means he doesn’t like it gray, or doesn’t care either way.

     He usually says something neutral like, ‘Whichever way you like it is fine with me.”  Or if he’s trying to win points, “You look beautiful either way.” Or if he’s tired of the whole hair conversation, “Are we talking about your hair again?” 

    I drive myself insane by obsessing over how my inch-long gray roots contrast with the faded red hair on my scalp. I become so offended with myself that I finally decide to color it again.

    Right after I color it, I assume that Paul has not noticed me walking around the house in a ratty red- stained tee shirt for 30 minutes, my hair wet and piled tightly on my head, or the noxious ammonia scent coming from the bathroom nearby his study. I know he will also not notice my noticeably different hair color (noticeably different to me since I study it at great length) because 1) He’s working from home and has more important things to think about and 2) He’s a man.

     I walk into the room interrupting his online meeting and shout,

     “Look, I colored my hair!”

    Paul sees my smile and says, “Wow, it looks great!” Ten points for my patient husband.