Petite Poppy was always what my mother would have called “well-put-together”. I’d say she was “edgy and stylish”. After all, she was petite whereas I had grown wider and didn’t feel petite or even average. My hair loss had taken its toll. However, the great day had arrived and thankfully the sun was shining on our preparations. Poppy could be relied upon to be unruffled and to blend beautifully into all occasions but I felt nervous, slightly apprehensive but, at the same time, excited. Unaware and unconcerned of the pending celebration, the cat slept on.
I was showered and was almost ready. New, matching, posh bra and pants: check. New, pretty, anti-static slip: check. New shimmering nude Italian tights: check. I primed and laid face foundation for a natural but elegant look. My hand began to shake as I applied today’s much-practised make-up routine. Waterproof mascara: double-check. The cat now lay resplendent in a patch of warm sunlight on the bed. She struggled to open her heavy eyelids, thought better of it and drifted back into her cosy sleep, dreaming of sunny resting places and once-conquered mice.
To my relief, my floaty dress still fitted. Just a quick glance in the mirror to make sure it wasn’t pulling over my ample curves. I was passable. But Poppy would be smooth and sleek; she always looked smart; you could rely on a bob. Today I felt in need of her beautiful shape, with just the right amount of perfect curves and her gentle sway of movement. I glanced over to the empty wig stand. Where was she? A wave of panic swept over me and my heart missed a beat. The car would be here soon. Poppy wasn’t in the bathroom. She wasn’t on the sofa or in the kitchen. What could have happened to Poppy?
She wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I knew I couldn’t go without her. Panic-stricken, I scoured all the places where she might have been. Nothing. In despair, I sank heavily onto the bed and disturbed the still-slumbering cat. He stared disdainfully at me and stood to stretch in that wonderful cat position where all four paws are close together with his back skilfully arched upwards like a cartoon animation. That was when I saw her. Poppy! Shoo! Shoo! I pushed the half-awake kitty away and grasped my flattened and crumpled Poppy. She wasn’t looking very edgy and stylish. I turned her upside down and gave her the shake of her life. I felt as if my life depended on her.
Poppy met the challenge. I positioned her and stood back to look in the mirror. Yes, she was smooth and sleek with her curves forming her usual beautiful bob with that suggestive hint of fringe. Perfect Petite Poppy. A girl should always have a synthetic wig in her armoury. It rises to the challenge, bounces back regardless and is ready to go when you are! I knew she wouldn’t let me down. I looked pretty perfect that day too!
Love Irene
X
Write for Us
How do you fancy writing an article for our fabulous, ‘Whispers From A Wig Wearer’ Community?
Here at Simply Wigs HQ we passionately believe that when our hairloss community are able to put their thoughts down in words, that in a small way, we are helping each other.
Thank you Pauline. I’ve learned that, as an “alopecian”, it’s best to try to make the best of the situation. Not always easy or possible, but once I’ve got my lippy and “hair” on, I find I can get on better with life. Best wishes, Irene x
On this cold, wet windy day of Storm Barra your article really made me smile. That panic is so real for me. What a relief to put on the Wig you need to complete your ‘armour’ for an event. [ or even to face the day?]
Thank you for starting my day with a smile and a laugh Irene.