That's Life

Issue of Oct. 3, 2008

Dear That’s Life,

As I read the news last week I noticed that the Mets lost (again). I commented out loud that it looks like the Mets are going to blow it. My four year old daughter, Chani, a student at T.A.G., looked at me with a puzzled face and asked, "I thought that the ba’al tokea blows it."

Judah Hulkower

West Hempstead

Dear That’s Life,

Compliments can come in many different shapes and sizes.

Case in point: Attending my mother’s retirement party, I wore my fall. Although I always cover my hair, it is usually covered by a hat or some sort of bandana. Only on special occasions do I put on what my daughter refers to as my “fancy hair.”

A family member approached me early in the evening. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, “but are you covering your hair?” With a really big smile, I said that I was, at which point he answered, “Well, then that is the coolest sheitel I have ever seen.” I was thrilled –– no one wants to be known as the woman with the dead animal on her head –– so I smiled broadly. “That’s why they get paid the big bucks,” I responded with a wink.

Later on, I was approached by two more people. “Who does your hair?” one asked me. “It’s fabulous.” Instead of going down the “I cover my hair and this is a wig” road, which rarely goes well, I erred on the side of caution. I thanked them for their kind words and explained that I get my hair cut on Long Island, close to where I live. “Oh, but it really looks like a Manhattan cut,” the second replied. “It’s just perfect –– not a hair out of place. It looks great.” I thanked her and smiled, really enjoying the moment, for as snooty as the line might have been, I totally took it as a compliment.

Later, right before I left, I spoke to someone who has known me since I was a toddler. “I didn’t recognize you at first,” she said. “What happened to your curly hair?” While she liked my hair straight and it was a “great cut,” as she put it, she wondered what made me straighten my hair after all of these years. “Susan,” I said to her, my hand on her shoulder to ease the news, “it’s a wig.” Staring at my head, and having forgotten that I cover my hair, she finally spoke. “Wow, Miriam,” she said, continuing to stare. “I have to tell you, I’m no authority on the topic, I have nothing to compare it to, and I don’t know anyone else who wears a wig or who covers their hair, but that one is really good.”

I looked at her and said, “Thanks, and I’ll tell my sheitel macher you approve.” And without further ado I hugged her and waved goodbye.

MLW