5-Star Hair in a 3-Star Hotel

Celebrations were in order following the excellent results from my CT scan, so Jim and I headed for an overnighter in Niagara Falls USA. Not the prettiest town in the world, by any stretch of the imagination, but full of good shopping and some above average food. Also, the falls are pretty impressive.

After a day of shopping, and an early bird dinner, we headed back to the hotel to enjoy our luxury mattress and flat screen TV. For us, there’s nothing more delightful than climbing between crispy white sheets in a bed that someone else has made. For full relaxation, I decided to ditch the hair. The problem was, that I had nowhere to put it.

According to my friends at Continental Hair, a wig must be stored properly when not in use, to maintain its' $1,600 quality. Normally, after a long day of making me look good, the wig is placed over a styrofoam head in my closet. But since the head doesn’t have a passport, it had to stay at home.

A Fine Bob

So I looked around our 3-star room, and the only logical solution seemed to be the ice bucket. It was slightly tapered, so I flipped it over and placed my wig over its base. Still, the base was a bit too big and I didn’t want to overstretch the elastic. So that left the coffee machine. And since we had no intention of ever drinking weak American coffee, it was in need of a purpose. (Why drink motel coffee when Jim was perfectly capable of walking to Starbuck’s at 9 am in the middle of a snowstorm!)

So we lay in bed, (me in my sleep cap), looking at the hairy coffee machine across the room. ‘Did you know,' said Jim, ‘That I counted three ladies wearing wigs in the restaurant tonight?’  Really?! I did not know that, and I usually have a highly sensitive hair radar. But he was certain, having a stylish mother who dabbled with acrylic hair in the 70’s. 

‘It makes perfect sense,’ he said, ‘Saturday night. Niagara Falls. Early Bird. Seniors. Wigs.' Of course was right. And surely he was describing them, and not us. I thought of the ladies across town, who were probably at home, ripping off their fake hair, and storing it properly. So I sipped my red wine, thinking that the only thing separating me from those gals was about 35 years, a man in my bed, and a well coiffed Mr Coffee.