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At War With a Wig

It is no doubt that a lot of you ladies can identify with what I am about to discuss. Some will not and that is okay. I make no apologies in advance for my attitude nor my complaining. Every now and then we just have to vent a little.

I knew that the time was fast approaching that I would have to record myself teaching or preaching a message. I knew that it would be broadcast on Facebook and I wanted to at least look presentable when that camera was turned on. I knew that I did not have professional lighting, nor a professional background and prayed that the sound would be okay. I knew that it had been months and months since I had been able to get to a hair salon and I wondered what I could do with my hair. Now you men reading this do not have a clue! To most of you this would not even be an issue so you would look at us cross eyed wondering why it would be an issue for us. Bless your hearts you just do not get it! There is just something about a woman and her hair, and I do not do bed head very well.

I had the bright idea one day to order a wig. Yep, that would do it! So, I went on and began to look at what was offered and instantly became overwhelmed! There were short ones and long ones and curly ones and straight ones. There were so many designed for the African American woman that I thought I had died and gone to heaven! They even had ones that were natural. Oh my! I finally picked out one with curly ringlets because it was closet to how I wear my own hair sometimes and I could hardly wait until it arrived. When it did, I took it out and shook it out and put it in the closet for safe keeping until needed. Another thing checked off on my to do list.

The recording day finally arrived. I took my wig out of the bag along with the free wig cap and put both on and looked at myself in the mirror expecting to see an instant hairdo that suited me perfectly. When I looked at myself what I saw starring back at me made we wonder if I had put it on wrong! There were curly ringlets everywhere! There were too many curls and too many ringlets. I began to use the special little brush that they sent with it and the more I brushed, the more it began to look like a Chaka Khan wig I had worn in the eighties. I thought maybe I had better stop while I was ahead. I could just see myself in the middle of the message having a flash back and starting to sing, “I’m Every Woman!” Lord have mercy on me! I flipped that wig and I turned it and each time it looked no better. I had declared war with my wig, and I was determined to win. But win I did not. In the end I pulled my natural hair back in a bun, put on a little lipstick and record I did. The wig won this time, but I do not give up a fight too easily. I will get that thing out, shake it out and try again. This time with a pair of scissors in hand!

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