Next door, I took off my scarf and felt my eyes swell with tears. I tried not to cry. I don't mean to be this emotional, and I am tempted to blame medical menopause except I've always been this way.
The saleslady helped me try several wigs on - brunette, strawberry blonde, one with bangs. I decided on a dark brown bob, close to my natural hair color. She warned me not to style it with heat or take any cookies out of the oven with it on. Right, because baking is how I'm spending my free time lately, I think.
After brunch, I carried my purchase home in a brown paper bag.
"It's creepy," was what Chris had to say about my wig-wearing styrofoam head-in-a-bag.
Sunday, I wore my new hair to a Halloween-themed brunch at Chris' aunt's house. Fitting, no? I vacillated between feeling self-conscious in it -- is it on straight? can everyone tell? (which was a silly feeling to have, considering everyone at the brunch knows my situation, and knows that's not my real hair) -- and feeling so much more normal than I do in my scarves.