Monty Haircut Unearthed A 40-Year-Old Scar (and didn't even give me a nickle)

Outside our windowpane I am watching a winter storm -- supposedly the storm to beat all storms.  The ice/sleet/snow/wind and now sun ebbs and flows like an ocean before a hurricane; a hurricane that is a lot of hype and bluster, but in the end kind of fuzzles.  Hurray for hype and bluster! Around here, we love fuzzle.  Speaking of fuzzle...

This was how much hair I had post-shower Monday morning.  See the wad in my hand?

This is how much hair I had post-shower Tuesday morning

 I'm not even going to show the amount of hair that I plopped over to one corner of the shower as I attempted to wash my hair this morning.  This is an action I repeated over and over and over again.  By the time I finished, I felt like I needed to take another shower to wash off all the hair that had accumulated all over my skin.  I absolutely could NOT believe that I actually still had even one hair left on my head when I removed the towel from my head.  But Heaven help me, I did; I could not believe all the bald patches! My head looked like a patchwork quilt.

Dwain grabbed his electric hair clippers and said, "Find a clean sheet and a safety pin.  Let's see what we can do what this mess." 

When Dwain was 5 years old, he used to call his barber Monty Haircut -- he always got a buzz in the summertime.  So I trusted him to play the part of Monty Haircut for me today.  Hey, you didn't give me a nickel!

I think I know how Elvis felt when the Army cut off his famous dark pompadour.  If I had not already given my Elvis sunglasses glasses to my cousin Brett, I could have used them as a prop for this picture.  HA!

Just call me G. I. Jane -- just wish I looked as famously fit as Demi Moore when she played that role.  

When I was about 16 years old, my friends Anne, Frances and I rode on the hood of another friend's car in the parking lot of our high school.   It was when the driver started doing donuts that I lost my grip on his radio antenna and fell head-first onto the pavement (I do not remember hitting the pavement or any pain associated with the accident).  Occasionally I became conscious of this and that; a teen-age tennis player picked me up and carried me to a car;  someone mentioned that we were going to the emergency room and I protested, worried that my parents would find out that I had been riding on the hood of a car and that I would get in trouble; then I vaguely remember seeing the concerned face of our family doctor with lots of blood on his hands; my parents were there, but they didn't look mad.   I ended up with a concussion, had to rest a lot.  Everyone got grounded.  But no one was seriously injured, thank goodness.  Stupid teenagers!  And I can say that, because it was ME. 

Dwain said, "Wow, that scar on the crown of your head is huge.  It's a wonder it didn't do more damage than it did."  

Heavens, never in a million years did I think I'd ever actually see that scar without caked-on blood or hair to cover it up.  

Bet my sister remembers this accident.  Bet Anne remembers it even better, since she was right there beside me when it happened.  Bet Frances remembers it too, God Bless her precious, precious soul.  Bet she saw the scar today, too, 'bout the same time Dwain did, didn't you Frannie?