BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

When Jennifer Lopez brought up the subject of toupee tape recently, she caused a run on the stores, sadly leaving many who truly need the versatile commodity without it. The incident shone a light on one of our country's most shameful secrets--tiny tots hobbled by hair ornaments the size of frisbees and the baldness experienced by bow heads in later life. Sixth grade girls with receding hairlines show up at the beauty shop all the time.

For years scientists wondered, "Why do so many young ladies arrive at the pinnacle of womanhood with balding pates, unable to catch a man--forced to wear baseball caps the rest of their lives?" Now we know. If only Mother had looked ahead to the flowering of femininity, foregoing grosgrain in favor of her daughter's future. But no, Mother was too busy competing with Mrs. Jones next door and now poor Betsy has a bald spot as big as a single serving pizza on the left side of her head where a bow was attached for 15 years.

Like many of you, I am cursed with thinning hair. In fact, between 50 and 100 percent of my hair is fake at any given time, taped to my head in a procedure that takes hours. I discovered the cause of my baldness when somebody handed me Aunt Phoebe's photo album at a family reunion. One picture caught my eye. It was a toddler staggering under the weight of a huge bow with a replica of the Alamo attached in its center.

"Who's this?" I asked

"It's you," my aunt replied, sadly shaking her head. "I told your mother it was child abuse."

"You had a lot of hair when you were born," my mother said sheepishly. "I can't imagine what happened."

On the way home I stopped at the house where I grew up and asked the new owners if I could look in the attic. Bertha and Sammy Fulfer followed me up the ladder. As I suspected, Mother and Daddy had left all my stuff behind. I opened the trunk containing the pathetic mementos of my miserable childhood: my puppets, Zippo and Stupid-Head, my neck brace and the Mae West costume Mother made me wear to trick or treat. Finally, I found what I was looking for--the 5 pound Alamo bow. Suddenly it all came back. Mother, who hoped to get into the Daughters of the Republic, made me wear the bow on every important occasion, including my wedding. A loop of silver duct tape was still attached and clinging to the tape was enough hair to make a small toupee.

"That sure is cute," Bertha said. "You ought to put it on."

Driving home, I couldn't help feeling proud when people honked and pointed. But by the time I arrived at my front door, I had a terrible a crick in my neck. I called my mother on the phone. "This is all your fault," I said.

Mother arrived with a can of WD40 and a crow bar. "You look just like you did when you were a baby," she said, dreamily. Before I could stop her, she yanked the bow off my head, taking half my lovely bouffant with it.

The supplier says there will be toupee tape on the shelves pretty soon. Thanks, Jennifer! Thanks, Mom!