Head Covering

I became un-Mohawked last night. I'd suspected that the Mohawk was staying put mostly because of the gel, and that without it, it would fall out. I was close. I located the only comb in the house, a plain black one courtesy of my surgery stay at Fancy Hospital. It had come in a plastic bag with shampoo, and I'm sure added $700 to the bill. I combed and the Mohawk came out in hunks, leaving a very thin veil of hair behind. When L came home from basketball, I made him trim and electric-shave the middle of my head. There were strange ridges left around the Mohawk border, and I made him shave more, even though he was dead tired. Then I was mad at him because he hadn't been eager and adept, but mostly because I was so unhappy to lose my hair. The Mohawk was fun, he said. Bald isn't fun. For the first time he has more hair than I do.

In good news, I received two head coverings in the mail yesterday. The first was a lovely red tam knit by the fabulous T in LA. The second was from Y the costumed activist. It is a light scarfy thing that covers my head closely and ties in back. It's black with white scorpions, and was designed for an Italian racing team. I can use the black one as an under-hat. With the tam on top, it looks sort of like I have hair. I can move the tam around, too, so that it flops this way and that. I'd tried on some tams over the weekend, but none looked as good as this one.

I was so happy to get both in the mail.

Today I am feeling droopy because I am un-Mohawked even though I am still grateful and pleased by these gifts. The sun is shining, the daffodils might actually recover from being cold-nipped the other day, but I had trouble sleeping last night and I want to go crawl somewhere and watch a movie. But I must get my three miles in and grade some papers. I went to the bank today to finish up some work on my IRA I'd started Tuesday and the guy there had to copy down my driver's license number. He looked at the picture and asked me (wearing a hat) how I went from the driver's license hair to a Mohawk. I said, Chemo. and told him I'd lost the Mohawk yesterday. Oh, he said, that's not too exciting. He seemed disappointed. I suppose he wanted to hear about a dramatic mid-life shift. Maybe he imagined getting free tickets to hear me play in a punk band. And thus his life would be changed.