Wigged Out

There was a man with the biggest dreads piled on his head a mile-high as we were swimming in the pool last week in the Bahamas. I was praying that my three year old would be able to hold back her comments but NOOOOOOOOOOOOO. She yelled without abandon, “Mom, look at that man’s hairdude.” Great. Later that day we were watching SpongeBob and he was sportin’ a powdered wig, full of dust and mites. He thought everyone loved his locks and that it made them happy he was wearing a wig, even though they teased him. By the end of the episode, he had created a trend and all the characters had a Marie Antoinette coiffure.

I like a wig, probably better than the next person. We have an assortment left over from Halloweens and the wigs I used to have in my office in NYC. It was located in the heart of the fake-hair district and they were really cheap. Sometimes things got stressful at work and the only release was to pull people in my office, pass around the hairdos, play some music and turn on the disco ball for a four o’clock dance break.

It is good to encourage wig wear, especially with the little ones. My son recently went to a birthday party at Medieval Times. That’s the place where men ride on horseback and joust and guests eat turkey legs. He came home saying that he really liked the knight who had long hair in the back with short hair in the front. He wants to grow his hair like that because he thinks that knight was cool. Hmmmmm. Dan and I proceeded to tell him that the mullet is out of style but we have a mullet wig if he wants to make-believe. My daughter wears a long, blond wig sometimes and she seems like a JonBenet wanna-be. That look freaks me out a bit.

The wig begs for a celebration. A friend of mine in Atlanta has friends who throw a wig bash every year and it sounds like a blast. It is a grown up, dress up, drink up kinda party without a theme, other than you have to wear a hairdude. Living in DC, you have to have a political affiliation. I declare mine The Wig Party and am inspired to host a shindig, because like SpongeBob, I think wearing a wig makes people happy. Wanna come?

Family Jewels

“I did not think you were that kind of girl,” he said. My response with a big smile, “I think I am now." I used to have a platinum band, which was great, but desired something with a bit more sparkle, a rock. On our next anniversary, my hubby gave me a beautiful antique, Tiffany-setting ring. Ahhhhhh, it's thrilling to have the ONLY piece in our collection of family jewels. That is, of course, not counting the metaphoric ones….

At a recent annual "treasure" checkup, the doctor asked if I had any questions. We discussed my list and then all of a sudden, out popped, “A friend of mine is complaining about 'pee leaks'? Jumping jacks wreck her.” The doctor told me that she should do more squeezes, ya know, Kegels.

The pee problem is more common than I realized. I read it’s estimated that half the female population will at some point experience some form of incontinence (according to the Mayo Clinic). My fitness-instructor friend says that several ladies in her weekly mommy exercise class complain about the same issue, and that's just right here in the little 'ol town of Kensington. We need to whip those pelvic muscles into shape. Teri Hatcher uses The Amazing Kegelmaster 2000 and raved about it on The Tonight Show, saying now she has, "a really strong kitty cat." See the clip by clicking on the link at the bottom of this story. I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants but wondered if the Kegelmaster keeps ya from having to wear the dreaded Depends when you're older and, if not, do they come in the shape of a thong?

I'd like the option to wear thong panties until my 80's. No grannie panties for me. Some of my buddies don’t understand the appeal of a thong. A group of my girlfriends recently took a momshell-power-lounging beach vacation. A few days into the trip, my lace French-blue thong went missing and I asked each friend if it had gotten mixed up in her laundry. Oh, the comments: "Why are you wearing a thong? I don’t have your butt floss. Doesn’t that hurt!" It became a running joke through the week. Back in Atlanta, one friend facebooked that her daughter was wearing it as a hat.

A thong IS a strange looking garment. Even my son made a funny comment the other day on this subject. He’s six. He saw me in my bedroom, getting dressed, and charged in with hands akimbo, “Mommy, WHERE ON EARTH is the rest of your underwear?”

Some comments you have to ignore, but not the one about how to take care of the family jewels.

http://www.amazingkegelmaster.com/

Hair-brained honking

Does short hair mean you are bitchy? That was the topic last week on a DC radio station in relation to “Kate Plus 8”. The DJ said that women with short hair are bitchy, like Kate. People called in, said she is nasty. They said her haircut is white trash. Hairdressers added their commentary: A woman with short hair has to have ‘tude to pull off a short cut. In order to wear a cropped do, a gal has to have the personality to make it work. Usually there is an edge to women with short hair.

Weeeell, I’ve considered myself a short-haircut gal for the last 13 years but I don’t think I’m bitchy. Sassy at times, yes. When we moved to DC almost three years ago, my hair was short and I noticed that few women in my burb had a cropped cut. I also noticed that people drive very aggressively here. Drivers kept flipping me off, honking, and yelling out of their car windows at me. It is the damn roundabouts. How are you supposed to know where to get off? Sometimes there is a sign but the only way to see it is if you go merry-go-round style in the roundabout. On one outing with my kiddies, a truck almost hit us. He laid on his horn, gave me the finger, and called me a bitch. I got riled up and screamed, “Fu@&’in A!” My son earnestly asked me, “Mommy, did you say, ‘That truck got in our way’?” Yes.

The last time I had longish hair was almost 15 years ago and when a terrible thing happened, I put Kate Plus 8 to shame. I was living in London, launching a cable network and was happily separated from my Atlanta-based-practice-husband. He came to the UK, all caveman-like, to drag me back to the USA by my LONGish hair. After a bad serving of shepherd’s pie, we ended up in the ER. The Doogie Houser ER doc proceed to take some of my practice husband’s blood but it started spurting out all over his chest. I can’t stand the sight of blood and had a pass-out-and-fall-into-a-hospital-wall accident. Things continued to go downhill – practice husband wasn’t being treated, I was changing his bedpan, I needed drugs for my broken nose. That’s when I got fiesty and screamed with swollen tongue, “THIS wouldn’t be happening in America!” Nurse Ratched had us transported to the Infectious and Tropical Disease Center out in the English countryside. Longish hair was NOT washed during the three days while in quarantine.

Today my hair is medium length and people are still honking at my driving. But now when they flip me off, I wave, smile and look happy. I have embraced the fact that I’m not the best driver on the road. It's liberating to feel good about not being great at something, which, by the by, has nothing to do with the length of my hair! Just sayin'...

Foxy Kensington

He calls me "Foxy Kensington." It's not my stripper name, ya know, first name is your first childhood pet and the second name is the street where you grew up. My stripper name is "Peaches Vestabrook," which sounds pretty authentic if you're dancing around a pole. I probably would've been a stripper if I had big breasty dumplings but my "girls" led me down another path - TV producer, mom, Foxy Kensington. That's the name my animal trapper calls me. Yeah, we have a trapper because there's a minx living in our back yard near the swing set. The trapper said my name is on his cell phone speed dial. Ohhhhhh. OK, I'll take it where I can get it in the burbs. Actually, I've always taken it where I can get it. A great prop keeps you charged, lightens your step, improves your swagger and helps ya work that skirt. Back in New York City, I once passed a construction site and a few crew guys yelled out some cat calls. I'm no prude so I went around the block for take two! Love a shout out. The props are sometimes better when they come from your girlfriends. The other day I was walking behind a friend and noticed her legs as she took her son to class after the Moms & Muffins Breakfast. I told her she looked like a teenager in her platform sandals and white ruffled skirt. She called me later to tell me it made her day. We gals need to build each other up when our muffins are workin'. And when you get a somethin'-somethin' from a man on the street, take it in and enjoy it. Go around the block again for a second helping or adopt the nickname. I have! Foxy Kensington. Just sayin'.