My New Friend, the Wig Lady

I’m addicted to Excedrin.

There… I said it.

Most mornings, especially in the spring, I wake up with a headache. I’m now in the habit of popping two Excedrin, climbing back into bed, grabbing my phone, and listening to two basic news podcasts while I play solitaire. Don’t tell my doctor.

Nothing deep, really. But beating most opponents at solitaire is still satisfying after reaching level 1250 during the lockdowns, and the Excedrin gives me a kind of body/spirit lift, turning the awakening groggy dread into a hopeful can-do-it kind of vibe.

This morning something else happened.

While still in bed, I wandered over to Substack and stumbled upon a short clip of Kurt Vonnegut speaking about what is it to write. Or what it does to write. Yeah … the “does” of it. My eyes teared up, taking it as a kind of synchronicity-delivered message from God that it is … finally … now okay … for me to write again.

One moment …

Okay, I’m back. Had to stop and find a good opera playlist. Now that Pavarotti is singing Nessun dorma, I’ll soon be whisked into the mindset of my younger self, flying here and there and everywhere … a quest for self-validation.

Yeah, whatever, right?

So I ordered two wigs about six days ago, and another about four days ago and none of them have arrived. But I’m still excited. My own hair is fine, as in texture fine; not the “fine” of adequacy. With some super expensive product, I can get it to look really good. I thought it was fine … “fine” as in adequate, until I started adding up what I’m spending on hair that is sometimes fine but always fine.

I’ve given you enough to figure that out, okay?

My monthly haircare expenditure has been, on average, about $365.00. This includes services, tips, and products. I’m not asking for anything extraordinary; just root touch-up, a slight trim, and highlights every few months. It’s ridiculous.

A single heat-friendly synthetic-hair wig runs from $100 to $500, depending on features.

No-brainer, right? Think not? Do the cost-benefit.

With my stylist mentioning (lately, every time I see her… annoying) that my hair is getting thinner and thinner. A short while back the idea of getting a wig started floating around in my head. Or on my head?

Two weeks ago we changed seats at church. Oh, the horror! Yes, we really moved. And to avoid offending those we’d left behind, my husband went back and explained to them the many reasons we had decided to make the move. There was really only one; my back is messed up after falling down the stairs on New Year's Day.

Anyway, the meet and greet minute arrived. I got up, and a woman with big platinum blonde hair and false eyelashes came over, grabbed my hand, and started shaking it.

“Wow, you look beautiful!” I said.

“Oh, it’s a wig … I’m Michelle,” she said as I gawked at her stunning mane.

“I want a wig!” I heard myself say, like in an out-of-body moment.

And that was it.

The next morning she sent me two pages of single-spaced notes about wigs. Everything I could ever need to know about finding them, trying them, buying them, wearing them, and maintaining them. She also included invitations to come to her home and try on her wigs, or go with me to the wig store at the mall and try stuff on there.

Okay … so this is where the line gets drawn.

I am a high-functioning train-wreck with false beliefs that still drive my self-image (yeah, get over it already, okay? You act like you’re the only one! Sorry, sometimes that voice of tough love intrudes on my thoughts.) Anyway, when someone suddenly wants to be my friend and do stuff together and talk on the phone and share secrets, I get a teeny bit uncomfortable.

But this morning, I met her for coffee.

I walked into the place and could only identify her by the sheen of her hair because every time I’ve seen her, she’s been wearing a different wig. Synthetic hair wigs are a smidge shinier than normal hair, and through my exhaustive and scholarly research, I’m proud to say I can now spot a wig from forty paces unless it has been beaten into submission with a host of strange and brutal techniques coupled with hair products that bring the sheen down, enabling them to pass for the real deal. Pro tip: Watch the videos.

Choosing a shaded spot on the patio, we sat down with our beverages and treats of choice, and I did what I usually do to take the focus off me.

“Okay, Michelle, are you ready?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a curious person. I want to know about your life, your gifts and talents, your beliefs, your challenges … all of it.”

Well, she was game. Within the first ten minutes, she said, “Okay, I’m going to tell you the worst thing I’ve ever done …”

“No, don’t do that,” I said.

“Why? I want to.”

“It’s too early.”

She stopped. But then later she couldn’t help herself, I guess, and told me anyway. And when she did, I laughed.

That’s weird, right? I laughed?

It was a pretty bad thing she did. But it was also a pretty common thing she did. I wondered. Why did I laugh?

Kurt Vonnegut was right. Writing makes sense of things. I know why I laughed.

I laughed because, even though it was awful, it hadn’t taken her out, and it hasn’t stopped her in her tracks.

Michelle knows Jesus Christ.

Michelle understands what He, God Incarnate, did and continues to do for her.

And finally, Michelle is now living it out as a free and peace-filled woman. Who has great wigs.

Somehow I knew that… and I laughed.

It was a spontaneous outburst of joy.