I am so ready to tackle the world today.
I just got back from getting my hair cut, and for this one day my hair will be perfect. And, as you know, when your hair is perfect you can do anything.
Theoretically, I should be able to repeat the "do" tomorrow, since I showed my hairdresser my styling routine and asked her to shape my locks into a design that fits my morning ablutionary practice:
I look around for a brush, which, if it's not in the sink, congealing, is non-existent. I then grab handfuls of hair, squeeze, and shake. Copious quantities of hairspray keep every follicle exactly where it falls.
I know that some people spend hours to get this messy look. But seriously, it only takes seconds. Of course, it doesn't look stylistically messy, the same way true minimal makeup doesn't look like artistically applied minimal makeup. But either you have time for breakfast or you have deliberately premeditated, artlessly unstructured hair.
Do you males in the room even think about these things?
Obviously not, since you just shove a baseball cap over whatever's left on your head and call it James Bond undercover as a farmer. Come on, boys, is that how you dressed on the first date with your girl?
Hats -- real ones -- aren't such a bad idea though. In the winter I have a series of fetching, knitted berets and fedoras that extend the regular six-week recommended trip to the hairdresser to a quarterly visit. After 10 years, this blessed woman is accustomed to my panicked phone calls:
"I've got to do something NOW! I know your schedule's full and I don't expect to get in right away, but do you have anything before noon?"
Sometimes you can still see the teenage girl that's in all of us.
This last time I was proud of myself, having given my remarkably patient and easygoing salon specialist, Vicki Lewis of Dayton's Creative Designs, a good week's notice,via Facebook. And it's fortunate I got in, because the weather's not cold enough yet for cerebral knitwear.
The Norwegian Artist -- who keeps his hair short and sexy -- is not a baseball cap sort of guy; he's more of an Australian outback floppy safari man. When he goes out to chop wood, I know that he'll be able to tackle any black mambas or berserk kangaroos or cleverly concealed crocs out there.
He'd look great in one of those 1940s-style felt fedoras -- actually, any man does -- but until we can figure out a way to pair this fashion with T-shirts and NOT stray into the pretend world of big-boy, bad-boy gangstas, we girls are out of luck.
The Crocodile Hunter look isn't a bad compromise though -- rugged, tough, confident, a little bit sweaty and disheveled -- sounds like a good definition of a man to me.
So I'm on this one-woman crusade to bring back stylish head wear, and living deep in the depth of forgotten rural country. It's unlikely that anyone will hear me, much less listen.
Except for today -- when my hair is perfect and I can do anything. So what am I waiting for? It's mid-afternoon and I've got a world to change!
Dayton columnist Carolyn Henderson, who manages Steve Henderson Fine Art, can be reached at 382-9775 or via email at firstname.lastname@example.org. More of her writing is at middleagedplague.areavoices.com.