Life Isn’t Perfect but My Hair Is

Sure, my life isn’t perfect but my hair is!

HAIR! It’s a body part about which women have been obsessed probably since grade school

I complain about my post-menopausal belly but I don’t do pushups or crunches.
I bemoan my flabby arms and allot no time at all to squeeze in a few curls.
Ten years ago, while sitting on my lap, my five-year-old Granddaughter peered up and asked with sincere concern, “Grandma, what’s wrong with your neck?” Plastic surgery is not an option.

Yes, my body is aging. I can accept that. I wear long-sleeve shirts, tops that camouflage my protruding belly, and invest in anti-aging (yeah, right!!) makeup. I’m 71, after all. As they say, I have earned all these wrinkles.

But my hair???!!! IT has to be perfect. I think it’s been an obsession since … forever. There have been times when it was not perfect. Still an obsession!

When I was in first grade, for school picture day, my Mom painstakingly French braided the left and right sides of my long hair. The part down the middle was perfectly straight. I used to make her count each braid to be sure the two equally matched (of course she probably lied to me, but I was satisfied that they were even and beautiful!)…