I didn’t go to church this morning—one reason: my hair. My stylist has cut back her hours and her openings conflict with my schedule. A STYLIST? You have a stylist? Surely that would be the question for anyone who knows me. But without one, the honest truth is I would normally look a lot worse than I actually do. Now, this is not an issue of a low self image. I’m a realist. I know my strengths. For example, I have good teeth and a good smile. But bad hair always trumps good teeth.
But why shortchange the Lord by not going to church just became of bad hair? (I wish my church had a confessional. I’d go to a priest and pour out my heart.) A few months ago, a man at church, who has made friendly jabs at me regarding my Calvin Seminary situation, poked fun of my hair. He laughed at me. That did it. I stay home for bad hair. There are many people at my church who I’m sure think of me as an uppity woman for exposing the seminary. I can deal with that—any day. I’ll answer any question, show any document. But I’m guilty when it comes to my hair. Had the seminary cast me out due to bad hair, they would have been entirely justified.
Why not wear a hat? I love hats, but until a few more bad-hair ladies join in, a hat will only serve to draw unwanted attention. John says, Just put a bag over you head.
Now that’s a cruel, if not sexist, comment! This morning as I was lamenting my hair, I presented an air-tight case to him on the sexism inherent in hair. He’s seriously balding—-FAR more so than I am. His hair is much thinner and more stringy than mine is, but no one laughs at his hair. He can go to church with his head high while I hunker down alone at home in my misery with only the Sunday paper and shimmering river to keep me company.
Here is the evidence for why I stayed home this morning.
Here is the hair that actually went to church.