I've chucked the wig!
What a relief! No more worries about a heavy wind's impromptu unveiling. Too, there was that time in Talbot's dressing room when I removed my shirt and launched the flying hairball into the next stall. Fortunately, no one was hurt.
Even though my wig looked cool, my self image split. With the wig I had a hair style so chic women asked where I got it cut, without the wig, my hair reminded me of Eddie Munster.
What's a girl to do?
I was thrilled that my hair is back, but it looked bad. My true identity nagged for an unveiling. How can I walk the survivor's path if I'm hiding under this facade?
Survivors are bold.
Fortunately, my hair stylist friend, a.k.a. miracle worker, gave me a short, edgy look, a fashionable, brave boy cut. I'm surviving in style!
Sharon Stone, move over!
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