Deluded though I am, I fancy myself a master at concealing my imperfections to achieve the illusion that Iâ€™ve got my act together. Ha. Like people donâ€™t know I draw on my eyebrows every morning before I go out to pick up the paper.
Sometimes, my efforts at innocent subterfuge come back to bite me. I had a leak in my refrigerator which caused an angry dark stain on my hardwood floor about five inches long and two inches wide. I called Mr. Fixit guy and he came out and â€śfixed it.â€ť To hide the stain, I bought an attractive rug runner and placed it over the imperfection. Problem solved â€” sort of.
A week or two later, I accidentally slipped on the rug which slid sideways revealing a monster stain with a second â€śbabyâ€ť stain growing beside it. My innocent ruse hid a more serious problem and now Iâ€™ve got to recall Mr. Fixit along with a floor refinisher. Meanwhile, the columns on my front porch have begun to rot. I was able to conceal the problem by placing plants around the base of the columns or objects dâ€™art in front of them â€” an old shutter salvaged from a demolished home, a childâ€™s Radio Flyer wagon I found at a garage sale â€” stuff like that. Suddenly, my porch looks like a garage sale itself. I halfway expect people to start knocking on my door bright and early on Saturday morning.
And of course, the biggest ruse of all â€” and one Iâ€™m seriously rethinking â€” is my new wardrobe of wigs which became necessary when Chemotherapy stole my less than stellar locks. I now have five in all â€” a long black â€śCherâ€ť wig I wear for fun or when I donâ€™t want to be recognized, a platinum blond one that makes me look like a hooker and three others I alternate according to my mood.Â
The other day, I spotted ABC morning anchor Robin Roberts on national TV, bald as the day she was born. What courage, I thought. Am I being too vain? Dare I go out in public au naturale?Â
Frankly, the wigs itch like crazy and Iâ€™m always adjusting them.Â I had a relative who liked to take a nip now and then, and you could always tell because her wig would be down over her forehead or sitting sideways.
When out in public, I have to excuse myself to run to the restroom about every 30 minutes to check its position or jerk it off and scratch. I worry constantly about getting fleas when summer arrives. But, on the other hand, there is that "cone head" problem I was born with and I donâ€™t want to scare young children.Â
There will always be something muddying the waters in the river of life, and when put in perspective, my glitches are hardly earth shattering. Itâ€™s not the big things that kill us, itâ€™s the little things that drive us crazy.Â
Like Scarlet, I can tell myself I will worry about them tomorrow. Or I can address them one by one. Today I will deal with the refrigerator issue and maybe that will make me feel so good I will call a carpenter to fix the columns. Probably not.Â
Iâ€™m pretty sure the hair thing will be the last problem to confront. Â Â
Emily Jones is a retired journalist who edits a blog for bouncing baby boomers racing retirement.Â She welcomes comments at www.deludeddiva.com.
View more articles in: