I have big hair. I always have. When my kids were younger they could spot me in an auditorium by my poufy do. I can’t even tell you how many times someone has asked me if I put my finger in a light socket. The owner of that remark always thinks he made it up. Please.
Or the one about how my hair would make a good bird’s nest.
Well, up until the other day, the taunts were just that. Flippant words spewed at me by some jokester classmate or unrelenting cousin. And then it happened.
There I was innocently minding my own business, talking on my cell phone when along came this Japanese beetle, dipping and diving in that clumsy manner known to their species. Her wings fluttered showing off her iridescent beauty.
Yes, they are a lovely insect when looked at from afar. This one decided she liked, no loved, my electric hair. And she wasn’t about to give up until she had nestled in her destination.
After a few shrieks, batting at the air, dropping my phone, I ran inside. Thinking, of course, that I had seen the last of that persistent creature.
Twenty minutes later, while my mom added carrots to her salad and I added some family gossip to our conversation, I heard a buzzing inside my hair! Actually, it sounded as if it was under my scalp.
So I did what any normal middle-aged woman would do – I freaked out! I shook my head, swatting at my hair with my hands, while my mom did what any good mother would do, and ordered me outside.
After shaking my head obsessively for the next ten minutes, without any trace of the beetle, I decided it was safe to go back in the house.
The question was: where did the darn thing go?
We received our answer several minutes later when a sudden buzzing around the kitchen drain startled my mom.
Being the animal rights activist that I am, I rescued the beetle and set her free, thinking, hoping that I had seen the last of her.
But like I said she was persistent.
The next day while sitting at my desk, I heard a buzzing outside my window. There she was, flying into the glass, over and over again. Had she left something in my hair? Some precious eggs, perhaps?
My mind jumped from that thought to all those years long ago when there had been a lice epidemic at my kids’ elementary school. And then further back to when I myself had lice as an eight-year-old with thick, bushy hair that was impossible to get through with that special teeny-toothed comb.
I couldn’t stop scratching my head. There was nothing rational about my thinking. After washing it several times that day, I once again ventured outside.
There she was, this time with a few of her friends. But now it seemed that she had taken a liking to my roses and my hair was no longer an attractive nesting place.
Still, I made an appointment with my hairdresser.
If the birds and insects are actually finding my big hair a place of interest, maybe it is time to tame it a little.
But only a little.