First Post

With a little too much time on my hands, I begin this blog.  To those of you who don't yet know me, let me introduce myself.  My name is Dixie, I was born in the North, raised in the North and South and am currently living in the South, specifically, Wilmington NC. 

 I am in my mid fifties and for the past 18 years or so I have been bald, either by fate or by choice.  My hair cannot get its act together.  When my hair started to leave me, I developed coin sized patches of scalp which eventually got together to give me a shino bald top.  More time passed and I developed small circles of hair within the mostly bald pate. Then as I entered my mid fifties, my head hair started to re-appear but my eyebrows and eyelashes left the premises, and the head hair today is baby fine and snow white.  I prefer the bald look to the wispy white hair look, although I usually wear a wig for the comfort of other people.  If I haven't already given you too much information, I do not have underarm hair, nor leg hair, but my pubis, well that's my business, although many men will ask me as they glance down towards my crotch "Did you loose all your hair?"  Funny, women never ask that question.  


In the course of my hair loss I have probably owned 40 or 50 wigs.  They don't last very long.  Heat frizzes them up, and in the South that can happen immediately just walking down the street.  Baking cookies and attending oyster roasts can sometimes cause even worse side effects, but fortunately I have never experienced an open head flame.  I have owned wigs of all different colors and styles, the most hideous of them a BIG copper colored long haired number which I called my Brenda Starr wig.  I had it for a pretty long time, because it was so long, there was plenty of hair to trim when the ends got frizzy.  I have a dear friend who is a hairdresser.  Every now and again I will gather up all my wigs and head over to her house where we will share a bottle or two of wine.  One after another, I will put the wigs on and Charlotte will trim them up for me.  When I leave her home, I feel smug possessing enough hair to keep me from having to visit the wig store again in the near future.  


On one such occasion when my son was still young, I visited her with 10 or 15 frizzy wigs just before we departed for our Christmas road trip.  Our route would take us first to the Tennessee mountains to see family on Christmas day, and from there we traveled to Virginia to visit a dear friend and then headed home along the Outer Banks.  

By the time we got to the Outer Banks the station wagon was loaded with Christmas presents, souvenirs, a couple of antique sewing machines and 2 duffel bags of dirty laundry.  To gain room in the car, the bag containing my freshly trimmed wigs got tossed in with the dirty laundry and I tied the duffels to the roof rack.  We had a beautiful drive along Highway 12 and decided to spend the night in Rodanthe.  But when I went to check into the hotel, I discovered that the cargo on my roof rack had been lost somewhere along the highway.  Since I had gone from wigs to wig less in just a few hours,  I skipped locating a laundromat and shaved my head slick and went to dinner Au-natural.   I remember thinking that I had lost more hair in my life than any one woman should ever have to endure!