When I first decided to pluck the hair of my widow’s peak, I didn’t really think[1] about the consequences of my actions. I didn’t really think about the severe hardships that growing a widow’s peak back in would eventually incur in my life. And, I didn’t really think about the fact that growing a widow’s peak back in would require me at some point to dye my hair BROWN.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with what exactly a widow’s peak is, I would like to take this opportunity to educate you. A widow’s peak, as described from the invaluable source, Answers.com is, “A V-shaped point formed by the hair near the top of the human forehead.” About six years ago, in a tremendous hair bout, I decided I would pluck a little bit of the hair in my widow’s peak (which by the way was hardly a widow’s peak at all). So, I did it. Some moments later, I began to see that by simply plucking my hair line I had truly made a mess of my life. From that day on, about every four to five days, I would have to add plucking my widow’s peak to my grooming routine. Often, weeks would go by when I would neglect the “peak” and would hear puzzled inquires from my loved ones such as, “what is that thing..?” and “… ya got something on your forehead.” Of course, I would briskly dismiss these formalities with a simple “I don’t know what you’re talking about” and try to change the subject. Years went by. Years of plucking.
Finally I realized that I couldn’t go through my entire life plucking my widow’s peak… I mean, how far could I take this one? Marriage? Children? I could just hear myself screaming to my kids downstairs, “Stop crying!! Mommy has to just pluck her godd**m widow’s peak and then we can have ice cream with rainbow sprinkles!!” Wow.
So, I decided to quit cold turkey. Unfortunately, my hair was blonde and my widow’s peak was a tad darker. And by a “tad darker” I mean my widow’s peak was black--- and that was when I realized that I had only one choice: to dye my hair dark.
I had made a mistake like this before one hot summer eve at my college alma mater, but how quickly we forget how minute changes in our physical appearance can affect our lives. Needless to say, I became a “pretty” brunette and my widow’s peak grew a little longer…. But, at the end of the day, I was never and could never be a brunette. And, after four whole months of “doing my time” as my wise friend once explained to me, I was done. DONE. (Yeah, I know that’s not the correct usage of the word, I know it should be finished, but “finished” doesn’t quite explain how I felt about being brunette).
So, I made the appointment, dropped the $400, (was unhappy and went back two days later to become more blonde—right, of course) and finally I was me again. Me.
My name is Suzanne, and I am not—and will never be —a brunette… I am a blonde. So,
...we haven’t even met yet.
(as for the widow’s peak, she's doing well, but I’ll keep you updated).
[1] All italicized phrases to be performed in a classic voice impersonation of Dame Barbara Streisand.
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