Wednesday, May 30, 2007
I'm starting to hate my sheitl.
It happens every time, and I suspect with every woman. There comes a point where the wig on our head ceases to be a wig, and morphs into a cat.
When this phenomenon occurs, it doesn't matter how many compliments we get on it. We hate it. We look at ourselves critically in our mirrors, dreaming of our next look (mine will be wavy). When we purchase the next wig, the current one is relegated to the back of the closet (never to be heard from again).
When I start feeling this way, I resent being frum. And this is a feeling I have to deal with, because honey, wigs are expensive.
p.s. Yaakov walked in while I was writing this and said, "Oh no..."