Wigged Out...or not

This morning we went to church, and I wore a wig for the first time. It looks fine, I guess, and will be handy for occasions when bald just won't "do."I bought a wig because I didn't know anything about going hairless, and everyone told me I would want one. Many women I have spoken with seem to like their wigs better than they like their own hair. I guess I am lucky in that I was content with my own hair, but I also don't object at all to the way I look hairless. In fact, it completes the "Sigourney Weaver/Alien" look that makes me feel pretty damned powerful. Also, the bald head is cool, cool, cool on these hot North Carolina days. When I still had a little hair, I was inclined to cover it up with a cap or a scarf; now that I am down to the nubbins, I feel better just trotting around open to the air. Although I am pretty sure that my mother would never have allowed me to shave my head, I wish I had known how great this felt when I was a tomboy preteen who hated her curly, bushy hair and who desperately envied boys for their easy freedom. I might have tried to talk her into a "summer cut." There would have been no worries about ticks hidden in the knotted curls, nor would I have had to endure the efforts to bring the mess under control for a public outing. I've got to say, I like being bald. And I promise, I am no Pollyanna. This is a true breast cancer bounty.