On May 30th I took the wig for its first test run. I pulled
it on with a hand on each side, just like a motorcycle helmet. Then I used the
tabs in front of the ears, disguised under strips of fake hair, as a sailor
would use a rudder. I pulled on one side, then the other to try and get the
fringe positioned accurately across my forehead. There were more navigation
items. Two straps at the base of the wig
could be pulled together or let loose to make the wig tighter on my head. The
straps were secured with Velcro. (I would like to pay homage to Velcro here,
surely, like post-it-notes one of the most useful inventions of my lifetime). I
moved the wig forward which gave me a more serious look and then backward to
show more of my forehead, which made me look friendlier. I threw my head back
as if I just heard an incredibly funny joke, to make sure the wig didn’t end up
sliding off. I shook my head vigorously forward and from side to side to see if
the wig shifted and I ended up with hair across my face. The wig behaved
admirably. The trials were all successful until I tried on my reading
glasses. When I pushed the glasses under
the wig and over my ears, the sides of the wig stuck out noticeably, like
little wings. When I pushed the glasses to the top of my head they made the whole
wig move backwards and my bald head became exposed like I suddenly grew a
super-sized brain. I would have to avoid wearing my reading glasses. Shopping
at the supermarket, ordering from menus and looking at photos on other people’s
I-phones would just require a huge amount of guesswork.
I decided the wig
was too loose so I put the hair net (which, as an afterthought, I splurged on
at the wig shop) under it. The whole ensemble now felt as heavy and thick as my
white knitted hat. I added mousse to try and turn the flat curls into something
reminiscent of my own curls, now at the bottom of a landfill. It was turning
into a half-day process so I bucked up the courage and went out the front door.
In the safety of the car I felt I blended in beautifully but the real challenge
was to walk out in public. I stepped out of my Ford Laser, locked the door and
turned around. I walked down the main street expecting people to stare and
small children to point their fingers, but nothing happened. The fruit vendor
kept filling his emptying stock, the cappuccino didn’t fall out of the waiter’s
hand, and the customer in the chemist sprayed a sample perfume without giving
me a second glance. Everyone carried on their business as if I looked perfectly
normal. I sighed with relief. I held my head a little higher and walked a
little more confidently. That was the first test out of the way. Test number
two was the wig at closer inspection. I had to go for my weekly bloodletting
and as I sat in the plastic chair with my right arm on a pillow, the technician
stood inches from me. She stabbed me with the needle and asked my birth date
and bid me good day without once staring at my head. That was definitely two
passes. I was humming to the radio on the way home. But then I did a double-take
in the rear view mirror. The white hairnet was peeking out of the front side of
the wig above my left ear. How long had
that been showing? Had the whole town been in a collusion to be incredibly
polite? I took the wig off and put it in the box. I filed the box on a shelf.
It was enough for one day.
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