The wig’s first outing – November 8th

My hair is falling thick and fast.  I am leaving hair everywhere in my wake rather like a moulting animal.  It’s over my shoulders, in the wash-hand basin, even on the table.  I dread brushing it or even touching it as it comes out in handfuls. 

I pluck up courage to wash it and it is really quite shocking to see huge clumps of hair blocking the plug-hole.  When I comb it I am horrified to see my parting spreading into a bald patch and when I lift my hair there are visible gaps.  There is no doubt I really am going bald and I think this is probably one of the lowest points so far. 

Today I am off to a major trade show where I will be meeting up with lots of people and, as I look so moth-eaten now, I feel it’s definitely time to cover up with the new wig. 

As it is such a light blonde, I have applied lashings of fake tan to my face and, once the wig is on, I am quite pleased with the effect.  It’s the perfect, shiny bob and I have never had such well-groomed hair. 

Travelling on the train I feel very self-conscious and interpret even the slightest glance from other passengers as a signal that my wig has slipped.  On the tube I am peering at my reflection in the windows wondering whether it’s still on straight.

Arriving at the exhibition hall, I dash straight to the loo and am relieved to see my hair is still perfectly in place. However, I still feel very insecure and vulnerable and am convinced that it is obvious to everyone that this hair is false. Peter is already at the exhibition and I am anxious to find him for a bit of moral support but it is like looking for a needle in a haystack.  I desperately need his assurance and a nod of approval before I meet up with anyone else.  

Too late.  I see a journalist that I know well.  He nearly walks past me and looks surprised when I greet him.  I can see him looking at my hair but, of course, he says nothing.  I cut the conversation short and dash back to the ladies again for a quick mirror check. 

When I finally catch up with Peter he is with a crowd of journalists that we know well.  They instantly put me at my ease telling me the new look is great.  From then on I feel much more comfortable – at least until I get to a reception where we are all expected to don Stetson hats.  I gingerly pull it down on the new blonde bob, grateful that I can hide it away for an hour.  However, the hat is a tight fit and I mainly spend the next hour worrying about how I am going to take it off without creating the embarrassment of a lifetime. 

When I get home and put the blonde bob on its stand I have to say I think it has done well.  Costing little more than a full head of highlights, it’s the perfect solution to the bad hair day.  It didn’t move an inch, it didn’t frizz in the rain and looks as immaculate at the end of the day as it did at the beginning.  

I think wigs could be the way forward.  I wonder what other colours and shapes they come in?