The wigs, she said, had been her mother's. Her mother is not dead or anything, she's just living in Richmond. I'm not sure why Fabienne has the wigs. I took them and thanked her. Later I realized that none of them would work. I stashed the shopping bag in a closet. Then last week, Fabienne texted me:
Hey Becky I got a haircut that's waaaay too short, do you have those wigs?Realizing they were about to be out of my life forever, I raced to the mirror to photograph them. So I could show you. Because that's how I think of our relationship: we show each other weird wigs.
If you are not at work, please do yourself a favor and play this video as you scroll down. It is the necessary soundtrack to these Eastern bloc beauties. You will not be sorry.
|Okay, this one is kind of cute.|
|Sadly, this one is the closest to how my actual hair looks now.|
|Oh my. Paul Giamatti as John Adams!|
|I kind of like this darker color. Kind of Lisbeth Salander?|
|This was supposed to be a sexy pout. Obviously I have no idea how to look sexy. Matt is a lucky man.|
|How would we describe THIS choice specimen? Need help.|
|Laura helping out.|
So then Fabienne came right over and showed me her too-short haircut, which was not too short at all and was very cute. She told me she was going to a dinner party the next night where there would be a man she was interested in, so she wanted to wear the little dark wig. I tried, as strongly as I could, to persuade her that her actual hair would look better than the wig. Then she came to clean on Friday and told me that she'd been wearing the wig for days. Trololololo!
This post is in honor of the fact that Tuesday afternoon I am getting a haircut. A HAIRCUT, PEOPLE. This is a milestone. I do want it to grow a lot longer, but my hair girl assures me that it would benefit from a little shaping and will grow out from there. You can bet you'll hear more about this.