A short while ago “Wigs” was the
buzzword at Varenna, and a Red Carpet Wig Fashion Show turned out to be the
result.
Flower arranging is a great place
to catch residents and inspire them for a super idea. Ever active Evita loves
wigs and wondered why we couldn’t put a wig show together. Were enough ladies
interested? She collected not only flowers, but names too. Interested residents
signed up, and she took the idea to Anna. Days, weeks, passed, until one morning
my telephone rang.
“Hello, Elisabeth, this is Evita.
Next Monday we have appointments to try on wigs at the “L.A. Beauty and Hair”
shop on College Ave., and the wig fashion show will be announced shortly. Are
you still game?”
“Sure Evita, I am game, but I
have no car.”
“That’s no problem, you can drive
with me, but you must be ready by 9:30 sharp.”
I will miss
stretch, but so be it. “Evita, I have to
be back the latest by 11:30, is that possible?”
“No, problem, don’t worry”.
Three of us drove with Evita to
the shop, started trying on wigs and soon got caught in the fun. We could not
stop laughing. It is amazing how a wig can practically change your personality,
make you look so different. I was determined to wear a snow-white wig and
pronounced with a loud voice, "I will walk with a cane."
“Elisabeth, you absolutely cannot
do this, you have to look younger, not older,” exclaimed a horrified
Evita.
I played the game a little bit
longer, but, as a matter of fact, I didn’t like the white wig either, and
finally said: “Evita, don’t worry, I’ll do anything you say.”
I eventually decided on a straw blonde wig and
a grey-ish one. The shop lady, Huen,
marked them with my name and I was ready to leave. However, there was a
problem. Evita was in her element, giving her opinion and comments first to our
group then to the ladies who had just arrived. Fortunately, I overheard a
conversation. The Varenna driver was bringing one or two more wig try-er-ons. I
quickly called the desk and secured a ride back to Varenna.
Finally the big day arrived. The
day before I began to panic, what should I wear? Unfortunately my stepdaughter and dress
adviser Ann was in Australia with her husband and could not be called for help.
Shirley suggested my below-the-knee beige dress I bought in Switzerland last
summer. I could wear it with my boots, giving it a jazzy look.
Sunday, the 16th of
November had arrived. I went into panic mode and tried to find Evita, or
Shirley, but neither was reachable. What now? I had to make up my own mind, what
should I do? I put a few things out on the bed, shoes on the floor, looked at
them and knew now there was no other way, I had to make this painful decision
all by myself. I slipped into my beige
dress. It didn’t look that great. I tried it with a belt and a scarf, packed
the boots and my make-up kit in a bag and walked over to June. She didn’t like
the belt and asked what color my wig was. I had forgotten. She was not
impressed with my outfit, to put it mildly. I went down to the library and noticed
my wig, the first one in the whole procession. I looked at it and got a shock.
No way can I parade on the red carpet with what I am wearing. Somebody greeted
me cheerfully; I didn’t recognize Claire wearing her fancy wig.
Fortunately I had enough time, I
rushed back upstairs, threw the dress on the bed and slipped into the next
outfit, my purple three-piece suit. A
pair of simple little black shoes worked well with it and my gold purse would
add a touch of elegance.
Back at the library I looked for my
blonde wig, where was it, on which head did it sit? It was Margrit wearing it,
fitting her to perfection. Huen’s husband and daughter had joined the crowd.
Huen took the black net I had saved from the try-on, put it on my head, the wig
over it, and I walked to the mirror. Surprise, surprise: I was not me! Looking
at me, it was Margrit! We got a five
minute instruction how to walk and how not to walk. Don’t run, have fun. I had
given June my cell phone to take a few snapshots.
Things got a bit hectic, we had
ten minutes left, I was number one on the hit parade. Evita with her keen eye
checked our wigs, noticed something not quite perfect with mine, came close to
check it out, and, oh dear, her cup got a jolt and warm tea spilled over my
pants and Claire’s jacket. An expression
of shock came over Evita’s face. “Are you hurt, Elisabeth?”
“No, Evita, don’t worry, I am
just a bit wet, but my pants are nylon and will dry quickly. With a huge sigh
of relief Evita relaxed. In no time towels appeared, we all blotted mightily,
Jeanne had picked up her hairdryer and low and behold, at the proper time we
were ready. Disaster avoided.
Anna, with her fabulous long
black wig, introduced us. She only mentioned our names at the end. Indeed, some
residents did not recognize us. I prepared for my second wig, the silver-grey
one, which actually was a better match than the blonde. Soon we all posed for
official pictures. Nancy and her wig got first prize in fun and originality and
Kathy definitely had the best-matched one.
After the show people milled
around trying on more wigs, drinking champagne and nibbling on the eclectic
goodies. It was hard to tell who had
more fun, audience or models.
