Last week I sat down and listened to a group of women engage in a serious discussion of how old you can be before you have to cut your hair. Before we go any further let me set the scene.
It was after the fast had ended and I had secured a quiet spot in which to try and eat. What I didn’t count on was that so many other people had the same idea as me. Sometimes it is better not to be a trendsetter.
Anyway I was happily ensconced in a overstuffed chair with a cup of coffee and some great food so I had no intention or desire of moving any time soon. As I was enjoying my meal the others quietly moved into place and began their discussion. Initially it was about politics but the discussion got heated and they decided to switch topics to grandchildren.
That led to the comment by one of the women, “my daughter keeps complaining that the baby grabs her hair. I told her that it is time for her to cut it and get something more appropriate for her age.”
If I am not mistaken the mother in question is about 40. Mind you that I really had little to no interest in being a part of this discussion. I’d like to have the option of growing my hair out, but that is not really something that I am able to do. I have a natural Jewfro that I kept very short.
However due to age, children and the Shmata Queen the front of my head is growing a bit follicly challenged. One day in the future I am going to probably shave the whole thing and we’ll make like Mr. Clean. For now there is no need. The rule is that once it has become wispy than it goes. Right now it is still thick enough to run fingers through, more or less.
Anyhoo, there I was with my coffee and my dinner, comfortable and there they were, cackling… I heard all sorts of different stories about when they decided that long hair was no longer a part of their daily routine and all sorts of stories about how long it used to be.
But I never did hear why there is an age limit for having long hair. As I sat there trapped I let my mind wander. Something made me think of sitting with my grandfather and his friends at Farmer’s Market. It was back before the place was swallowed by The Grove. One of the men went off on a rant about women and told me that I should never trust a broad. He was eighty something and had been married four times.
He shared a few other pieces of advice for me that day, some of which I’ll hold on to, at least for now. I do miss those times. It was fun hanging out there. The guys used to hold court and argue about the best places to eat, what they did during the war and all sorts of other stuff.
They were some colorful characters.