The Changing

   The Changing

Suzanne Marsh

“Today’s the day I change, I take charge of me!” What a ridiculous statement that was for me to make. I knew I had to make changes in my life; I had become dowdy, cynical and worst of all my own worst enemy. I had not always been that way. In my younger days I was simply what we used to call “a stick in the mud.” There were times when I would just mope around; nothing do to. Both my parents worked and I was a latch key child before that even had a name. I had friends but like anything else they were there but how did I explain my feelings? I was never good at that sort of thing; I would just draw into myself. Back in the day you did not tell your parents that it would be nice if one of them was home with you. You accepted what God gave you and ran with it.

My decision to change came gradually. First I needed a solid name, not Susan Smith. I thought of names such as Maude, or Chloe, or Fleur DE Lee. I was twelve when I began to think about how I could change. I ran track, which was a big help. That year I even made it through the school year with high grades. My parents were beside themselves wondering how this magical feat had happened.

The following year my homeroom teacher was none other than Sister Reginald Marie. I had no idea she even knew who I was; but she remembered a little kid who constantly kicked her in the shins when she babysat. She made my life a living hell. She refused to let me run track, however I don’t think she bargained for Father Cotton. He told her he needed me on the team, that was end of it. She glowered at me every time she had the chance. I hoped her face would freeze that way; I wasn’t that lucky.

I realize as an adult that I no doubt needed to change my ways. That did not come easy; then again thinking gives me a headache. I got up one morning, my usual porcupine looking hair was at its best. I looked in the mirror, what looked back was rather depressing. There before me stood this middle aged, frumpy woman. ‘No’, I thought that can’t be me. Man was I wrong. I decided that if I were going to change I had better get started immediately. I put a brush through my hair; noting there were many “silver threads, amongst the gold”. The first thing was to change my hair color. I had to make a decision; my natural color, mousy brown or something more flamboyant, like bright red or maybe purple. Then I thought: ‘blonds have more fun’, hey why not. I went to the mall, there was a beauty shop there. I told the girl I wanted a whole new look. That was what I got, in spades. First she cut my mousy brown hair, then she cut it into a wedge type affair in the back. She mixed the dye, oh my was it purple. She applied it, put me under a dryer and started another customer. Twenty minutes later, she rinsed my hair...it was purple, a bright purple. She seemed quite pleased with it...I was mortified. I thanked her, gave her a tip, then left. I was not overly sure how I was going to explain to my husband why my hair was bright purple.

My next stop was a small boutique in the mall; modern, but genteel. The young woman who waited on me gave a gasp; as she took note of my purple hair. I just hoped the dogs would let me in the door. She showed my a bright yellow blouse, and tan slacks to off set the purple hair. Now I looked like a bumblebee with purple hair. Changing was beginning to seem like a rather foolish idea. Well, you live with the things you do. The hair would grow out.

My last stop was a gym. I had been promising myself for ages to exercise more and eat less. I entered the gym. I was greeted by a mere wisp of a girl. I hoped she didn’t think I was going to look like her when we were done with this program. She gave me a list of things to bring to the gym the following day. Running shoes, sweats, socks; I decided to buy one of their gym bags.

I arrived home to the sound of four dogs yapping. My husband was due home in twenty minutes. I quickly put the pork chops on. I heard the door open, there stood my husband of twenty years; his eyebrows shot up. He stared as if he expected to see Rod Sterling at any moment. I am pretty sure he was thinking he had entered the Twilight Zone. He smiled as he took in the purple hair, and the bumblebee outfit. He held me for a moment then asked when I was going to remove the purple wig. My hopes were dashed as I whispered: “this is not a purple wig, this my hair. Don’t you like it?”

There really was no tactful answer to this question. He hemmed and hawed then asked:

“How long before you can have it put back to your own color. What were you thinking?”

“I needed to change the hum drum me.”

“Honey, I liked the hum drum you.”

I wasn’t sure that made me feel any better; but it didn’t make me feel any worse. He noticed me for the first time in years. Later that evening our twenty year old son came for a visit. I was in the kitchen loading the dishwasher. Our son came into the kitchen, stood there gaping at the purple hair stammering:

“MOM?”

“Yes, do you like my changes?”

I thought he was going to go into hysterics, or worse. It took him ten minutes to regain his composure. He suggested that in a few days I return to the beauty parlor and get my money back.

Were the changes worth it? I am still wondering if maybe some longer fingernails, blue and green hair or maybe pink and green hair would suit me better. Change is good!