Wigged Out

April 2007

MY DEAR DARLING DAUGHTER,

I am enjoying the sights and sounds of Bangkok very much and the food here is fantastic - every morsel has been utterly delicious. The Thai people are very kindly, friendly, and helpful to the extreme. The only slight drawback I’ve encountered has been the heat (I have belatedly learned that April is the hottest month here) and as the humidity is rather hard on my hairdo I spend the mornings looking like Medusa and the afternoons looking like I’ve slicked my hair back with grease. However I must confess, it would be wrong of me to blame all of my tress trouble on the humidity.

Before leaving to visit your fabulous sister, I decided to perk up my “do” with a few lighter-toned streaks. I have done this before and knew that although the box states to leave the product on one’s hair for 20 minutes, 10 minutes is the perfect timing to give my hair to sublte, natural-looking streaks. I hurriedly painted in the streaks with the usual product, but as I was leaving for Bangkok later in the day, I was a little less mindful and particular than usual in their application and began busying myself on my laptop while the required 10 minutes elapsed. When next I noticed the clock on the computer, I noted with an air of despair that I’d had the solution in my hair for over 30 minutes. I quickly washed it out, applied conditioner, etc. and then finished up with the hair dryer.

Oh good Lord, I thought as I inspecting the brassy blonde smears in my dark hair. As my hair dried, the hideous streaks became even lighter and the slap-dash job I’d done became apparent - oh dear, much more apparent - yes, I sadly confirmed to myself, there definitely was a seahorse-shaped streak on the left side of my head, a tornado-shaped one on the other, and numerous brassy slashes all around. Egad and woe is me, I realized there was no time to fix the “do” before my flight departed.

I bravely forced a smile upon my face and unsuccessfully attempted to deceive myslelf into believing no one would really notice. This theory was overturned when your dear father gave a bit of a surprised snort when he saw me, followed by his fumbled attempt at a half-hearted compliment, telling me how ‘summery’ I looked.

When I arrived in Bangkok, your dear sister gave me one good, hard stare, and said, oh you’ve done something to your hair, do you like it? I quickly changed the subject.

A few days later, after long hours of sight-seeing and shopping, your sister, her lovely roommate, and I discovered some wigsin a shopping mall and spent over an hour there trying on unlikely hairstyles. All of the wigs we have encountered in Bangkok are in only four shades: orange (yes ORANGE), yellow (I mean YELLOW), dark-dark brown, and deepest-darkest-black. Still somewhat jet-lagged (I must blame it on something) and throwing caution to the wind I bought an extremely dark brown wig in a Cleopatra style. When we returned to our lodgings the two girls and I took turns parading around in the wig, striking vogue-ish poses, and laughing ourselves silly at my foolishness in purchasing such a preposterous accessory.

One late afternoon the following week, after a particularly exhausting day of sight-seeing in the oppresive 38-40 degree Celsius heat, we were in the elevator and I was plucking at my perspiration-drenched denim capri pants as they stuck to my legs, and wiping my perspiration-slicked hair our of my eyes, your dear sister realized that she’d made arrangements to have dinner with the head teacher of the school where she’d been working, and we were expected at the restaurant in 20 minutes...!!!!!

There was a great flurry and a few unrepeatable words as we burst into our apartment and leapt about trying to look presentable in the short time we had. In and out of the shower; slapping on baby powder, earrings, a change of clothes and shoes. There was nothing to be done with my brassy and hopelessly dishevelled head of hair ... until I remembered the wig!

To your sister’s horror, I donned the wig, and headed for the door. Mom! she tried to halt me in my tracks, This is an important dinner! I whipped off the wig and asked which was the lesser of the two evils. She concurred that the wig was more presentable but admonished that I shouldn’t adjust it or fiddle with in while we were dining with ‘Head Teacher ‘. As if! I harrumphed.

As we travelled by tuk-tuk to the restaurant, I tried to convince myself that the restaurant lighting would be dim; that in a sea of dark heads, I’d be just an unnoticable other. As we alighted from our vehicle I did a final adjustment to the Cleopatra hair, smiled a smile of feigned normalcy toward your sister, and into the restaurant we went. There was Head Teacher and her assistant waiting for us at a table in the far corner of the restaurant. As we passed table after table of diners, I thought a few quizzical glances fell upon my face/head region, but ignored them and smiled all the more widely.

We shook hands with Head Teacher and her lovely assistant and said our hellos and sawadee kas. I realized immediately by the brief but extreme widening of her eyes and the slight twitch of her nose that the lovely Japanese assistant wasn’t fooled by my wig. Head Teacher, however, didn’t seem to notice and chatted pleasantly with your sister and I as we placed our dinner orders. Over the course of our delicious meal, I became aware that each time I raised my eyebrows, as I am prone to do from time to time when engaged in animated conversation, the wig crept a milimeter or so up my forehead. Indeed, now half-way through the meal, my fringe was a good three-quarters of an inch shorter than it had been at the start of the meal. The more I concentrated on not raising my eyebrows, the more I did so, and the wig crept back even more. I turned toward your sister and feigned a cough as I stealthily readjusted the wig - she looked at me aghast, then squinted at me with a serious and somewhat threatening frown. I looked across the table at Head Teacher who was in the midst of a good story; her intelligent face was void of any indication that something might be amiss, however, her assistant’s eyes twinkled with merriment and our eye contact let me know she knew I knew she knew...

Your sister, continued giving me sharp glances that were unmistakably aimed to curb any mischeviousness I might be tempted to act upon, however by the end of the meal I had ascertained that Head Teacher had a delightful sense of humour, and I was confident she would see the humour if I was to not so subtly ‘out’ the wig. I began casually tugging first on the left side of the wig, until it slipped down and inch or two, then repeated the tug on the right side, as I recounted the events that had led me to the purchase and wearing of said wig. My tuition was proved right as Head Teacher, her assistant, and even your sister burst into loud laughter (perhaps your sister’s laughter would better be described as ‘a laugh of great relief’).

Thereafter the wig became known as “The Wig of Disapproval”, and I don it only in jest to chastise your sister and her roommate for real and imagined infractions against our shared living conditions.

Hugs and kisses to you and Dad. See you in May!

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER