Friday I went to the beauty shop and got my hair cut and colored. We’ve got an old-fashioned beauty shop with women all over the room having their hair set for the week. (I don't go to a 'salon'; it's really a beauty shop.) The beauticians are full of good gossip, and the prerequisite Diet Cokes sit on every station in the room. I love going to the beauty shop. They still have a window air conditioning unit and there’s a jar of hard candy up at the display case like your Memaw used to have in her kitchen when you were little. I always leave there with The Big Hair. I have no idea why folks in the country think that the bigger your hair the more fabulous it is.
One year on the front of my Christmas cards was this photograph of a woman with a huge beehive hairdo from the early 60’s smiling for the camera. On the inside of the card it read, “The bigger the hair, the closer to God.” I guess some folks in the beauty shop didn’t know that card was A Funny, because I once left the shop with hair so big that my husband called back down to the beauty shop and told my hairdresser to quit sending home a chick named ‘Candi’ who drove a t-top Trans Am to our house and return his wife and her regular head of hair.
Sometimes when the girls wake up with their hair gone wild we call that “getting an overnight visit from the hair fairy”. Well, that very day of The Big Hair Incident, I came through the front door of the house and Elaina said, “Look, Everyone! Mommy got the Hair Fairy!”
I got home from the beauty shop on this visit, and Elaina was so excited because the girl styled my hair straight and I had a few inches cut off the end making it shoulder length just like hers. Elaina said, 'Oh, MOMMY! Your hair is like mine! People won't be able to tell us apart!" Of course there’s that pesky part about me outweighing her by, oh, 200 pounds, the 30-year age difference, and being three feet taller, but she’s right--It might be hard to differentiate us.