Published in the April 27, 2020 edition.
By GAIL LOWE
WAKEFIELD — Remember when aging in place meant not moving to an assisted living community or, God forbid, a nursing home?
Now, like it or not, we are all aging in place. Every single day we remain in lockdown adds another gray hair and wrinkle due to anxiety and worry, not to mention aching joints from lack of exercise and extra pounds from too many visits to the fridge. In another month or so when we all step outside to reacquaint ourselves with family, friends and neighbors, we might not recognize anyone.
Case in point: The other night, I noticed that my husband Tony had nodded off while watching “Jeopardy.” That wasn’t all I noticed. When I crossed the room for a closer look, I saw that his eyebrows had grown into a single hedge above his eyes, and the stray hairs were climbing up his forehead.
And then I noticed something else. With his chin resting on his chest, he had taken on the appearance of Albert Einstein or maybe a silver-haired Bozo. His curly hair had sprouted into a tangled mess and was sticking out every which way. I thought about going to find my scissors, hauling him out of his chair, dragging him to his man cave and draping him with a towel. Then, I’d start snipping.
He broke through my thoughts when he opened his eyes and found me hovering. “What are you doing?” he shrieked, waking up suddenly from his eighth nap of the day.
“Nothing,” I said. “But if you don’t get a haircut soon you’ll end up with a man bun.”
“What’s a man bun?”
“You’re the computer expert,” I snapped. “Google it!”
Whoever decided that hair and grooming salons were non-essential businesses should be thrown into Lake Quannapowitt with a block of cement tied to his, or her, foot. At this point, many of us are ready to arrange secret appointments with hair stylists even if it means meeting in a back alley off Albion Street and paying double the usual cost.
After fretting about Tony’s hair, I started thinking about my friend Joan and her hair. She isn’t one to run to a hair salon when she needs her bangs trimmed, and she colors it at home. But what if there’s a run on Clairol and other hair color products? In no time flat, she’d turn into my grandmother. As for my own hair, I have nothing to say except that I will no longer leave the house unless I’m wearing a bucket hat. That and a mask are great for going incognito.
While I’m at it, I might as well mention women’s unwanted facial hair. Many women visit spas where they make themselves comfortable while lying on treatment tables and listening to soft flowing music. Meanwhile, an esthetician is lurking in the shadows and getting ready to plaster the woman’s face with gooey hot wax that is then ripped off in one fell swoop when it dries. If spas don’t open up soon, these poor women might have to go around looking like the bearded lady at the circus?
And let’s not forget Botox treatments. People we thought looked really young for their age will soon have faces that look like the bark of an old tree. We’ll all have to learn how to compliment each other in a different way because of it. Instead of saying, “Gosh, you look great. You don’t look a day over 40,” we’ll have to say something like, “Gee, I thought I was the only one who looked my age. Now there’s you.”
Fingernails will fare even worse. Take my sister Judy, for example. Recently, she did something bold for a woman who tossed out her cosmetics bag years ago. She went to a salon and had gel nails applied. Not only that, she picked a color somewhere between red and purple. A few weeks after she lost her mind, she told me she needed a “fill” but since all the nail salons are closed, she has to wait until they re-open. Meanwhile, her own nails have grown to the point where the fake ones are now at the tip of her fingers. I suggested that she cut them off, but they’re so thick, she’d need to use a hacksaw.
With all this staying at home and hunkering down, there’s no telling what the damage will be to everyone’s self-esteem and mental health. Maybe we should just go back to being like cave dwellers when it didn’t matter what anyone looked like. Now that I think of it, we might be a lot better off if we did.
