I’m living proof that God has an awesome sense of humor. How many times as a youngster did I sit in church snickering at the old church ladies with the big flattened spot on the back of their heads? And before I can mumble, “Bless me Father for I have sinned, I had unkind thoughts about the sweet, old balding women.” Shazaam, suddenly I’m one of them!
Unfortunately, when I wake up I’ve got a major St. Anthony thing going on and my hair looks like I’ve gone on a bender. Gone are the days of dashing out of the house in 30 minutes and looking pretty good. Getting ready takes time, way too much time.
I recently told an editor friend of mine about my blog. I sniveled about losing my sex appeal and went on excessively about my lank locks. She suggested that I talk about my fears of aging with my husband. Not wanting to disappoint her, after all she was gracious enough to read my blabberings, I promised to follow through.
Fast forward to Saturday night, I took 3 deep breathes, chugged a glass of dry Riesling and shared my inner angst of my thinning hair with the Big Irishman, hubby, light of my life, ball and chain. I held my breath and waited for his advice.
“Hey Don Don (my childhood nickname), just wear a baseball cap. I’ll still do you in a baseball cap!”
Grinning ear to ear, he was obviously pleased with himself. The Big Irishman, true to his clan, would rather stick pins under his nails than share any heartfelt feelings. He simply resorted to his usual MO, when in doubt deflect with ribald humor. Duh, what did I expect?
Next course of action, divine intervention. Isn’t St. Anthony the saint that you pray with to help you find lost things? My prayer went something like this… Dear St. Anthony please come around, I lost my mojo and it’s nowhere to be found.
Somehow my message got through and I got rewarded with a visit from my friend, Janeann, who’s always got her mojo on for the world to see. I’d bet a case of Rogaine that it takes Janeann way longer than thirty minutes to get herself ready, but trust me it’s worth the wait.
A little more background on Janeann is in order. Thank God, she is not reed thin or drop dead gorgeous. She is just like you or me but she struts it like the red carpet is calling her.
The other day she breezed into my kitchen, nails, hair, make up, jewelry, the right bag and her mojo on full display. Sitting there dejected, in my fat pants, mourning the loss of my sex appeal. I asked, “How do you do it?
“Ok, ready?” Dramatic pause. Janeann knows how to work a scene.
I leaned in hanging on her every word.
“Here’s my secret. It’s simple. I just pretend I’m one of those delusional 50 year old guys with the paunch, the comb over, the team jacket and aviator sunglasses. He catches sight of himself in a storefront window, gives himself a little affirming head nod, a thumbs up, and says to himself, “Damn I look goooood!” He believes this 100 percent and struts merrily through life. And people love him.”
Now whenever I’m feeling less than awesome, I throw on my favorite baseball cap and Janeann’s mojo, and I truly feel better.