I'm very attached to my hair. Our roots are deep. My hair and I have experienced the highest highs (thanks to Super Powered hairsprays) and the lowest lows (the '80's, need I say more?). I've never had perfect hair. Mine is fine and it takes a strong will and honed blow-drying skills to get it to poof and curl, but I love its style. Its curly, fringe hugs my neck and tickles my shoulders, reminding me at every turn that I am a flirty feline.
But my hair's days are numbered.
Tomorrow I'll take my second chemo treatment and the experts predict that by Tuesday, I'll look like Charlie Brown's Christmas tree.
Take my breasts; leave my hair!
I can't prepare myself for this moment. I don't think anyone can.
All I could do was launch Plan B: The Emergency Hair Back-up system (EHB). Girls, I bought the hair of my dreams: Big Sexy Hair. It's thick with long, loose curls. It's beautiful.
And creepy. There's a mannequin head clamped to my bath vanity. She's wearing the EHB until I need it.
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