A couple a weeks ago I made some rather bold statements about my hair. I said “When you shelter at home—who is going to see the whole hair mess anyway? Not to mention the later addition of masks—GENIUS! No haircut, no mascara—no problem! Put on a mask when you go out in public and voila! No one can recognize you! It’s like putting glasses on Superman—no one knew who he was! Secret Identity! Also, she stopped wearing contacts and only wore glasses—so exactly like Superman! Maybe she IS Superman!”
I completely forgot to consider that acquiring food requires going out in public—and that can entail social distancing--standing in line six feet behind another person, for an extended period of time. Or in this case, six feet IN Front of someone.
Last week I was standing in my socially approved line at the grocery store when a male voice behind me said “I really like your hair.”
Thank you, I replied, with a quick glance of acknowledgment over my shoulder, a smile under my mask.
“Did you know?” the voice continued, “Many of the Ladies’ Hair Salons are now back open for business.”
Uh. Thank you, I guess?
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| Clark, possibly Clark Kent-- more likely Clark Grisswald. |
He then proceeded to tell me exactly which salons in five block radius were open. Bless his little darling heart. I suppose I should be thankful he didn’t offer to call and make an appointment for me, then and there—as though I were on some sort of hidden camera Hair Intervention show. The kind where they accost people, just minding their own, and hijack them into a beauty salon that specializes in lost causes and hopeless cases. Six hours later they reveal the New and Improved You to your disbelieving circle of family and friends.
Superman never had to put up with that crap—but Clark Kent did. In my rush to embrace my secret identity, I had completely forgotten all the comments Mr. Clark had to endure. Hashtag Super Hero Problems.
As my friend Philip would say, “It ain’t easy.”
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