Going Bald

A friend and I were having a discussion this morning, brought about as a result of a Christmas note she got from a mutual friend.

The mutual friend turned 91 this year, and her letter was filled with all sorts of adventures she has had this year.  First, I'm astonished at her stamina and fortitude, and second, boy, I'd love to be her. 

She lives in one of those wonderful places where she has her own apartment where just about everything is taken care of for her.  On top of that there are all sorts of activities, and fieldtrips to take.  Geeze, what the heck did I do wrong, I ain't living like that?  My caller friend wondered the same thing about her life.

When we were younger, we would always joke about when we were widows, oh, the fun stuff we were going to do together.  Hello??????????  That sure didn't happen.  She's still married, I've been widowed quite a while...where the heck are all those adventures, and how come I don't give a 'fig' about adventures anymore, anyhow.

Rather, we're just getting older, more tired, and more concerned whether we will out live our finances, or if they will out live us.  (So much for our children's inheritances.)

Then our conversation turned really dark, and we went through the long list of things we wish we had been told before we got old.  Like fear of falling and breaking something, wrinkles, body fat, and facial hair.  And...finally that brought us around to going bald.  Yes, we are going bald.  Well, at the moment our hair is thinning.   Actually, mine is thinning, plus, my forehead is hurriedly, frighteningly moving backward toward the crown of my head.

I told her I'm balding just like my father, who didn't so much get those two semi-circles at his sides of his head, but rather went bald strait across his forehead.  I swear, I'm doing the same thing. 

My friend and I agreed, it is harder and harder to style our hair, because (certainly for me) what can you do when there is more scalp than hair, except a 'combed-over'? 

(Insert shuddering here.)

I told her in reality, I'm looking forward to wigs, and I'm intending to have one for every day of the week, in all sorts of colors and styles, with a pink one for holidays.
Won't I be a big hit when I show up at a Christmas Party in my pink cowboy boots and matching pink wig.  Baaaaaaa, haaaaaaa, haaaaa, haaaaa, haaaaaa.

We laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

She mentioned how expensive 'real hair' wigs are, and I have to agree, but explained there are some pretty good looking synthetic wigs out there, and at my age I don't give a crap mine won't be 'real hair'.  At least I won't be bald, and my head will be warm.

So.  After my conversation with my friend this morning, I sat down and wrote a letter to Santa.

Dear Santa.

(Please, if it would not be too much trouble, I would like to get the following for Christmas.)

One beautifully furnished apartment in a complex some place where my meals will be cooked, there will be entertainment to enjoy, field trips for exploring, and activities to keep me busy every day.

Eight beautifully coiffured wigs, one for every day of the week, and the pink one, too.

A lifetime membership to a Senior Exercise Center (which of course I will never use).

A brand new wardrobe, to go with my brand new wigs.

And boxes of Chocolate Covered Cherries, and enough Jim Beam to keep me chubby and warm for the rest of my days.

Okay, okay,  I'll settle for my balding head, the roof over my head, my flabby, un-exercised body, and my wardrobe of sweats, slacks, and a suit that makes me look like an un-cooked turkey.

But, I would enjoy a box of Chocolate Covered Cherries and a bottle of Jim Beam if it wouldn't be too much trouble.

Thanks, big guy in the red suit with white fur trim.

"S"