I have a slight cold at the moment (not allowed to be anything more as I'm on my own with the kids this week). I probably caught it from one of my two boys off school yesterday. It's what I call a functioning cold; very like a functioning hangover, in that you can get on with life, but if you look down your head feels like it's going to drop off and there's a loud ringing sound.
Last night I slept badly, for reasons other than the snow-blowing that has been occuring at 3.45am of late. (Angry e-mail has put paid to that I think). I remember waking up hourly, and sweating profusely. This morning when I got up I looked in the mirror and thought "So this is what menopause is going to do".
Apart from the ever-present bags under my eyes, my normally very straight hair was literally all over the place. I looked like Medusa on a very bad day. Having been soaked and then slept on, there were chunks sticking out, parallel to the floor, brazenly defying gravity.
Now, like many straight-haired gals, I have spent most of my life trying to introduce "bounce" into my hair. I have slept with tightly rolled up strands pinned all over my head, forked out a fortune on curly perms (that thankfully ceased with the end of the 80's), and invested in every type of curling tong/iron or product marketed. I can't even say that I've made peace with my straight hair as I am known to tousle it occasionally when no one is looking, and still have layers cut to achieve that rock chic/rebel look. Alas, with three kids and a Toyota minivan, that dog ain't hunting, as they say.
Anyway, the big life question for today is, how come these sweat-induced kinks in my hair couldn't even be combed out when I have never previously been able to un-straighten it? I was going to say I should probably start planning a new look now, before menopausal night sweats kick in; there's no way I'm going through what I did this morning just to avoid looking like a bag lady. However, if the genetics in my mother's family are reliable, I will be about 72 before I even have to worry. By that time scraggy hair will probably be the least scary thing about me.