I never thought it would see the day when I donned a shower cap. Those sort of things are for mothers - you know. . . the old lady kind of mothers. I suppose the word I wanted to use is grandmothers. Those sorts of things are for grandmothers.
Things like housecoats, bathing caps, rain bonnets, galoshes, foam curlers. Ben Gay, epsom salts, witchhazel, hankies, knitted tissue box holders.
So for years I have simply been piling my hair in a bun on those days when I didn't wash my hair. Sure it got a bit wet from the spray, but that dampness was a badge of courage - expecially if I had shaved my legs.
Until the day I entered my daughters' bathroom and spied a shower cap! What the? Who the? Had my mother-in-law come to visit? Where had this thing come from?
It was Ponzi's. (Perhaps the only thing she couldn't pilfer from her mother.) Turns out that child had no qualms about wearing a shower cap. Why would she?
Then why would I?
Excuse me while I put my hair
in pink foam curlers and go to sleep
with toilet paper wrapped around my head. . .
