Something happened to me. I’ve become Maxine, and I hardly recognize myself. It’s as if it happened overnight, one minute I was myself, and the next minute, I seemed to have morphed into Maxine. It was very disconcerting, to say the least. The Covid-19 pandemic has changed our world, and my hair is one of its casualties.
One recent morning, I looked in the mirror, and Maxine was staring back at me. My hair was bushy looking on each side, and the top was doing its own thing. I looked like a wild woman who just walked out of the bush. I have curly hair, and it’s been a long time since I have been able to get my hair done, thanks to this pandemic. There isn’t a woman in this world that should have to look like Maxine unless she so chooses. I did not choose.
I found myself going through my desk drawers trying to find a pair of scissors. I found a very large pair that was extremely dull. I knew if I tried to use them to cut my hair, it would be like taking a weed-wacker to it. I went online to Walmart and found a small cheap pair that included free shipping. I thought I would have to wait forever like I had to wait for some toilet paper I ordered back in March, but somehow Walmart knew how much I needed to cut my hair, and I had the scissors in a couple of days. Thank God!
I was so excited, I was like a five-year-old kid, in a candy store. I washed my hair and carefully removed my new pair of scissors from its cute looking pouch. I got as close to the mirror as possible – did I mention I have eye problems? Anyway, I realized at this moment that I didn’t have any idea how to cut hair. I tried to remember what my hairstylist, Laura, does when she cuts it. I combed through it, pulled up some strands through my fingers, and started to snip. I didn’t want to mess it up but snip away I did. Things weren’t going as planned. My hair isn’t one length, it has layers. I came to the conclusion that maybe I could have handled cutting my hair had it been just one length, but layers is a whole different ball game. Especially, when I could hardly see what I was doing. I had to get closer to the mirror again.
I grabbed my purple hand mirror, a towel, scissors, comb, and paper towel. I took everything into my living room and sat on the sofa. The paper towel, by the way, was to be used for putting my locks of hair on, as I cut it, just in case you’re wondering. I looked in the mirror, and finally, I could see what I was doing, sort of. I found out I needed to be three-handed, and I only had two. One hand to hold the mirror, the second to pull my hair up through my fingers, and the third to snip. I don’t have three hands but I do love a good challenge. I looked around to find someplace to prop my mirror, and I found what I thought to be the perfect spot. I put the mirror handle in between the sofa cushions to free up one of my hands, but then I had to crouch down low to be able to see myself. I crouched down, and just as I was about to snip, my hand mirror fell sideways. UGH! I tried again. This time I cushioned the mirror with a towel in between the sofa seats. I scrunch down, and once again, the mirror flops sideways. At this point, I realize I hadn’t taken my blood pressure medicine yet, so I quickly remedied that problem and proceeded to gather my things and headed back to the bathroom mirror.
Frustrated, I got as close as I possibly could to the mirror without climbing into the sink, and again, proceeded with the snipping. The one positive thing that I found is that having curly hair hides a multitude of sins. Thank goodness. Things were progressing nicely until it was time to do the back. I don’t have eyes in the back of my head like my junior high school teachers seemed to have back in the day (that’s another story,) but I can feel the back of my head with my hands, so I grabbed a bit of hair, and snip, snip, snip, all the way across the back. As the hair was falling, I was beginning to feel a lot better. Getting that heavy hair off my neck, felt like the weight of the world was being lifted off me. I shook my hair like a dog, spritzed it wet, and styled it. It wasn’t perfect, and I know if I ever get to see my hairstylist again, that I am going to give her a big tip for straightening out this mess, but it feels lighter and so much better. The bangs aren’t right, and one side might be shorter than the other, but what the heck, who is going to see me? Oops! My cats. I forgot that my cats could see me. That might be my next story. Anyway, life went on, and I thought I looked better with my hair trimmed, until yesterday.
Yesterday, I woke up and made the mistake of looking in the mirror before I had my shower. Holy smokes! “I’m Maxine again,” I said to my cats. Not only was my hair sticking out to the side once more but I was grey on top too. And to top it off I was wearing my fuzzy slippers and robe just like Maxine. Is there any hope for me? I said to myself.
I re-evaluated the new problem with my hair. The thing that bothered me the most was the grey on top. I thought about ordering hair color from Walmart, but I wasn’t sure what to buy. Do I color all of my hair or just the roots? How can I match the color to my roots? These were some of the questions I was asking myself. Talk about stress. The first thing I did was to take my blood pressure medicine, and I wished for some anxiety medicine too, but to no avail. Then once again, I inched as close to the mirror, as I could get and squinted my eyes. That’s when I came to the decision to embrace the “Maxine” in me. It was hard making that decision, but for my sake and my cat’s sake, I decided not to attempt to color my hair.
This has been hard for me to cope with, but I decided the best way to handle this situation is by writing a letter to Governor Whitmer, pleading, no, make that begging, to open the hair salons again. Obviously, she has an in-house stylist, because I’ve seen her on different news programs lately, and there isn’t a hair out of place, nor a root that is uncovered. As female to female, I am confident in my begging to win her over, and if not, I think I will gather all the females that I can in Michigan, and we will make the trip to Lansing to protest, in hopes, she will take pity on us and ease the restriction on opening our hair salons. And I think we should all show up as Maxine, with the fuzzy slippers, bad hair-do, roots uncovered, and the best of all, Maxine’s attitude. I kind of love that Maxine. This is going to be quite an adventure, and all I hope for is that at some point, I don’t end up looking like Mama, from “Mama’s Family.”
By Laurie Davis
EUP News Contributing Author