Mag the Hag

My mother, Jean Miller maintained throughout her life that "Older women can't wear long hair. It makes them look like Mag the Hag."
My sister and I contested her stance just because we believed it wasn't true. I don't like stereotypes or blanket statements, so something in me just didn't want to join in
with this sweeping generalization. And she said it with
such confidence like it was a proclamation from Buckingham Palace, which aggravated us even more! If she'd stood up in church (although her brand of Christianity didn't believe in prophetic utterances) and said "Thus saith the Lord," .....well, you get the idea.
Anyway, we both set out to prove her wrong by trying to grow our hair, even though we are on the younger side of "older. We both think we're objective enough to admit the truth, even if it's against our side of the debate. So, a few months ago we started growing our hair out. A few months into the experiment, we both grieved over the pain-staking ordeal of trying to let the layers grow out. We had to get trims during this process, so everything would get even. My sister's hair is thick, so when hers got to about shoulder length it looked like a sphinx or the Little Dutch Boy on the paint can back in the 50's. Mine is fairly thin and naturally curly, but when I started growing it out, it got straighter and dryer, and for some reason it got fuzzy and straw-like. Oh no, it appeared like Mom was taking the lead.
Still not willing to concede, the hair was allowed to grow despite the agony of looking in the mirror. I would press on! So did my sister. Together we would challenge the proclamation once layed down in our family by the Matriarch, even if it was to our own shame. Never give up the fight!
Well, the other night, I could tell I was weakening. I glanced in the mirror (not very smart) and was hit with a glaring smack of reality. My dissociative disorder failed me. There I was, aged by about 15 years! I actually got nauseous staring at my reflection, and felt compassion for those who had to look at me. My husband deserved a purple heart for his bravery of enduring staring into the face of "Mag the Hag." There, I said it. You win, Mom!!!
Yesterday, under the cover of night, I walked over to my son's house and asked his wife to cut my hair. I'm glad I did, even though it meant losing the fight, atleast on my end. My sister doesn't know about it yet, but I will call tonight and break the news or just refer her to this blog.
I can hear her now. "Uh uh. No. I won't concede. I'm not convinced yet." She is a little more strong-willed than me, or maybe not as vain.
I hope this concession doesn't mean we are relegated to a predictable life of old lady rituals of weekly hair appointments, tightly couiffed curls, and silver-blue hair coloring. I mean if Mom was right about the long hair thing what truisms are yet to follow?
Oh well, for now I like my hair.(today, that is) and with keeping with the tradition of Scarlett O'Hair mentally on my future of old lady hair rituals, "I'll worry about that tomorrow."

P.S.-Don't tell anyone but I use a hair pick from time to time to cover the holes from my thinning hair. Oh and on that subject-If you sit in a recliner too long and mash the back of your hair you'll get "chicken butt." That's what they say about Auntie Lea, my mom's sister.

P.P.S-How does this relate to Jesus coming back? Consider this segway: With all the scary and terrible things going on in the world today, "laughter is the best medicine." A light subject sometimes is needed so you won't fall into the despair and cares of the world. My daughter would call this a "spiritual whiplash-" going from the return of Jesus to long hair on old ladies. That's what she said when we'd be in church, caught up in worship, and then someone would go to the mike and start to make announcements or something.