hair here, hair there, growing, flowing, long as I can grow it, my hair! (can you hear the music?)

I stand at the sink in my bathroom preparing to leave for the day. I hold a pair of tweezers and peer seriously into my magnifying mirror attached to the wall. I am wondering if I should have bought that cream at the salon that promises my brows would thicken and curl if I used it regularly. I am on a seek and destroy mission for eyebrow stragglers, independent aggressive blonds bursting forth from various moles, dark mustache hairs (a recent addition to my garden of hair anomalies.) I have one charming hair that grows out of a follicle two inches below my (first) chin (hah!) and can actually be an inch long when I find it. I swear that hair grows half an inch a night.

I do this every morning. Even one day without vigilance poses the possibility of a Trojan horse take over. So I gaze into my mirror and seek out the interlopers like a sniper with a cause.

This after I have shaved my legs and creamed them carefully.

Now I pick up my whirling wind machine and attack the hair on my head. Much rides on this task. Will this be a good hair day? A good hair day means a spring in my step, a sense of bliss oozing in joyful confidence, possibly a compliment or flirtatious greeting on the greens. Maybe a promotion. A bad hair day means avoiding chapel, missing meetings, failing to complete assignments and possibly being called in the principle's office to hear about a wage reduction. SIGH

I cannot help but ponder the importance of hair to our well being, self esteem, beauty and status in the culture. I bet 80% of our grooming (more?) is about hair. Taking it off, coloring and styling it, trying to get it to grow or trying to make it disappear. Hair it seems, is powerful. It makes us who we are. It determines where we are in the pecking order of life.

And yet - there is a variety of person who intentionally removes their hair, and it is a sign of strength. Maybe these men look strong to us because they can live above our hair slavery, and simply check out of the game.


And perhaps similarly, this is why the man with the notorious comb over is so easily mocked. Perhaps a comb over is the ultimate slavery to hair addiction and the reason they are viewed as being somehow weak.

My conclusion is this. All we are, really, is a canvas for hair. What we are depends on how we manage that hair. Like a cosmic test ... will you trim it? curl it? bail it? remove it? All this says so much about who you are. And whether we should love you. I understand so much more now.

Ladies, start your tweezers!