Fried, and steamed

A sad little story can now be told because it has a happy ending: I fried my wig on New Year's Eve.

Not the whole wig, but a good chunk of the bangs in front. We were engaged in our tradition of cooking a gourmet dinner with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law. I was having such a good time, I didn't even realize it had happened until I caught my reflection in a mirror a bit later in the evening.

As I looked closer in horror, I knew at once why my bangs were matted and crispy to the touch. I had opened the oven door to tend to a dish without thinking. I had forgotten about my cancer; forgotten I was wearing a synthetic wig to cover the ravages of chemo. When I came out of the bathroom in a more somber mood, my family tried to assure me it didn't look that bad, although they had wondered why my bangs suddenly looked different.

I didn't let it ruin my evening but the next day I got out the scissors. I told myself the bangs had been a bit too thick anyhow and a little thinning would be good. The trim and a new little sweep to the side let me wear the wig to work and church without attracting stares but I knew anyone who looked too close would see sizzled strands across my forehead.

An angel came to the rescue. I tracked down Brenda, who runs the shop where I got my wig 12 years ago. I hadn't confessed anything when I made my appointment for yesterday but she grinned and knew what had happened as soon as she saw me. A little steam would take care of the fried bangs, she assured me. And it did!

I came out of Brenda's shop at St. Ann's Hospital with refurbished bangs, renewed self-confidence and an order for a flippy new wig that I'll pick up next week, just so I can have a change of style once in a while. And next time I'm using the oven, I'll be more careful no matter how much fun I'm having!