The Ladies Loo

When I was a little girl, my busy and non-girly mom always had my hair cut in what was then called a “pixie” style.  It was easy and very, very short.  I did not look like a pixie.  I looked like a little girl who cut her hair with a hedge trimmer.

When I was about ten years old, I went ice skating with friends.  There were lots of kids there, and one of them, a little girl younger than me, skated up.  “Are you a boy or a girl?” she asked.

That was the end of the pixie cut.  I put my ten-year-old foot down, and my hair grew.  In high school, I washed my long hair every night and set it on orange juice can-size rollers.  It was too thick to dry overnight, so I sat under the hairdryer for twenty minutes before I went to bed.  Every night.

And why am I recalling this?

Right now, I’m almost ten weeks past my last chemotherapy.  My hair’s about a quarter-inch long, and I’m sick of wigs and hats, so I finally said the heck with it, I’m going commando.  I wear girly clothes, lots of eye makeup, and big earrings.  I have hips and breasts.  Well, breast.  The other one is a silicone facsimile, but  the illusion’s pretty good.

So I was surprised when at work last week, I was washing my hands in the public bathroom, and a lady walked in, looked at me, walked back out, checked the sign on the door, and walked back in.  Surprised and very amused.  In fact, I laughed all afternoon.

I am a girl.

“Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.”  Proverbs 31:3


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