Do honey browns with blonde highlights have more fun? You bet they do! Even with cancer!
That’s me … second from the left in front wearing white like an angel …
Thirteen days after I had my first chemo infusion, I lost most of my hair and had the rest of it shaved off. Saying Ciao Bella to my own hair was very traumatic, but my spirit and soul were buoyed by my new locks in life.
Weeks ago – before my hair was due to fall out – I had a Say Yes to the Tresses party with a handful of ladies from my A-Team to help me choose wigs. We chose four that night and I have my eye on a fifth, just trying to decide the colour.
A HUGE and heartfelt thank you to Karen and the Jon Renau team for sponsoring the night. We came together to laugh, cry, drink a little wine and toast Roxanne – our friend and the founder of Jon Renau in Canada – who passed away several years ago from cancer. Her laughter and moxie can still be found in our hearts. Je me souviendrai toujours de vous.
My hairdresser suggested that I give each wig a name. At first, I laughed at the idea, but it struck a chord within … because each wig I wear brings out a different part of my personality.
Heather is a handful. She exudes sex and wantonness. She hides behind the curtain of honey brown, but only to be coquettish. She knows what she wants and she goes after it, even if it is in the Porche next to her. Especially when he follows her to the store to introduce himself …
She starts conversations with strangers in the bar … slipping into french to make the business travelers feel at home. She flashes big, wide smiles that reach her eyes. She locks eyes with that gorgeous man … and he is compelled to move to her side to start a conversation.
Heather has been offered a week in Aruba. Rounds and rounds of drinks. Men have professed their adoration from the grocery store to the dance floor … even when she honestly – but with a smile – plays the “But I have cancer” card. They don’t seem to care.
Heather has only been around for a few weeks, and she already has a string of hearts behind her. Ironically, most of them are french!
Just don’t expect her to cook in that wig … she expects dinner. (Seriously folks … the wig will fry if I open the oven!)
Sherri and I had a discussion about my (Lisa) shyness around men … and my inability to play “the game”. I hate games. I expect the man to make the move and I will follow. Simple. Right?
No. More than once in my lifetime, I have been told I am hard to read … too serious … a little too icy. I rarely make eye contact with men I don’t know, even if I am interested in them. My boss of many years ago – Mark – told me I intimidated men. My no-nonsense intelligence put them outside my circle. Don’t step within. Don’t patronize me. Don’t be rude. Respect me.
So why – when I slip into something a little more comfortable called Heather – do I find the courage to be bold? Why do I need a head full of blonde highlights let the real fox come out to play? I read up on the psychology of costumes – due to my love and fascination with The Fox. Naughty or nice? A person’s choice in costume reveals the true inner self. What you see is what you get. Authenticity at it’s finest.
I guess my self-confidence needs a booster shot. Who knew Boo was shy?
If you read Visiting Hours you know my heart aches for love – but I find myself unable to allow myself to be open and vulnerable. Hurt one too many times, I refuse to let my heart get into the game. I have a Masters degree in commitment – or lack thereof, and have done at least several marathons running away from love. When all I used to do was chase it. And it ran from me.
Is that why Heather has this come hither attitude? She knows the game? Is there a man who can break the spell and melt the ice around her heart? Dr. D shakes his head sternly … no men. Not now. Lisa – and Heather – are on the verge of finding themselves. The precipice of self-awareness as the I strip the barriers away in this blog.
Ok. So I have to remain single. But as Shannon said … can it be transactional? One cannot live by dreams and good deeds alone.
I will admit – openly – that I am afraid to get into the bedroom in a wig. Not a problem any longer! I’ve done it before – but this time it will be different. I’m vulnerable. Because underneath … my head, my heart, my soul are bare. At first, I stood like a statue … wondering if my wig would fall off. Windy day? Wild sex? I joked with Michael at the hair studio about “Oh baby … don’t pull on my hair …”. But as I loosen up and relax – and bend over to give Lucy her belly rubs – I find that I am not so afraid. It is what it is. I have cancer. But it hasn’t reached my heart.
Heather is going to get into a shitload of trouble!
Wig: Zara in FS26/31S6.
Karen … I think I need two!
P.S. Heather was named after my hairdresser who shaved my head. Heather, I hope you enjoy the ride and the read! XO
P.P.S. It’s been three months since Heather crashed onto the scene … and my life will never be the same!