Mrs. Frankenstein at Your Service

I never wanted to be the bride of Frankenstein. But apparently the hair gods decreed that I should be.

Bother.

I am going gray at both of my temples and if I just put a little effort into it, together with my curly locks, I could easily be Mrs. Frankenstein on Halloween…if I wanted to be. Which I don’t.

I tried having my hair dyed. I got it done professionally by a great guy who is really good at what he does. I was satisfied. I went back six weeks later to get it touched up. I honestly could not complain about the results.

But my daughter did. She thought I looked weird. “It isn’t you, Mom.”

My husband could not be forced to take a side – he claims he didn’t even notice when it grew out and returned to the natural grayness I’d tried to hide.

Hiding the gray just isn’t cutting it. Nor is hiding behind a cupboard door.

The thing is – I liked it fine when it was colored. But I’m not sure I liked it enough to keep on doing it.

Hair – what a bother. I don’t mean to be glib, but I have always thought that if I ever have to lose my hair in some terrible manner – like through illness – I’d be okay with that. Yes, yes, I know that the reality of the moment might make me feel differently – and like I say, I don’t mean to be thoughtless of those who have lost their hair in some terrible way – but I just get so sick and tired of this hair thing sometimes and today is one of those times.

I have other hair issues too. You see, my youngest daughter, Boo, has been blessed – at least for now, who knows how long it will last? – with curly hair. As a result, since the day she was born – okay, well, a few months later when her hair starting growing in – people have stopped her in the grocery store, at the park, in the hallway at school, and said, “What beautiful curly hair you have.”

She smiles and says thank you.

And her older sister – who lights up the room with her smile – is left feeling like regular, straightish hair is less than wonderful. Less than ideal. Less than beautiful.

But she has hope for the future, for she, like I at her age, is getting curlier by the month. So now she thinks she’s pretty.

But she’s always been gorgeous.

It’s really rather frustrating.

I guess basically I have one request: please, please, please, don’t be the person in the aisle of the grocery store who compliments the curly-headed girls and ignores the sisters. It’s not fair and it’s damaging.

And also, please, please, please, don’t ever call me Mrs. Frankenstein.

Unless it’s Halloween and I’m dressed like her. ‘Cause then I’m asking for it.

But I’m never going to do that. I prefer The Sailboat King to Frankenstein. He talks a lot more fluently and his face isn’t green.

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