The other day on TV a woman was interviewed that wrote a one act, one woman play about her hair. Now she did have an interesting hairdo, kind of an afro, but it made me wonder what could I write about my hair. I have very thin hair, the old lady type hair that you can see the scalp through. Not very interesting, and certainly not worth paying to hear anyone talk about. When I was a kid, I had thick hair that my mother would braid into two even braids that were quite long. In some of the pictures there would even be a ribbon braided into the strands, or the braids would be pinned to the top of my head. But that was when I was little, grade school age. When I was older I would go to the same hair dresser as my sister Barbara. Her name was Tillie and she always cut our hair with a razor...the whole thing. No scissors, just a razor. And short, both Barbara and I had it very short. I hoped I looked like Audrey Hepburn with that short hair and her beautiful profile, but I think I just looked like a kid with short hair. So then I had short hair for years, mostly cutting it myself. When I went to work at IBM I stopped cutting my own hair. One night my friend Kathy met me in the mall, after I had had my hair chopped in one of those walk-in places. She took a look at me, I think she even sobbed a bit, then vowed to introduce me to Joe, her hairdresser. Joe was a great addition to my life. He had a salon all to himself (not like the mall) had coffee and a little refrigerator filled with drinks. Soft music was playing and all his magazines were interesting and up-to-date. I loved Joe. I would tell him all about my family, just like he was my therapist. He would tell me about his life, his partner, his dog and we would laugh and laugh. Being cheap, I would let my hair grow quite long in between appointments, but Joe never forgot our last chat and would ask to get up to date on all the family news. He also cut my hair short, but with scissors, just a touch of razor on the back neck at the end. One time I went to work after getting my hair cut, and one of my managers looked at me interestingly and said, "Not many women would dare to cut their hair that short." I never knew if that was a compliment or a put down. About three years ago I decided not to get my hair cut anymore. It grew, little by little, until today when I can make these two braids, that are no thicker than a rat's tail. (Sabra just got a rat, so I know what I am comparing them too.) I guess I get my thin hair from my mother Bucky, who got it from her father Poppy. Poppy went bald at an early age, probably even in his 20's. My mother told a story once of how Grandma found a remedy for bald heads, smearing them nightly with the marrow from a cooked marrow bone. Now marrow, lightly salted and spread on a toasted piece of buttered rye bread is one of my all time favorite things to eat - but it is very greasy, nothing you would want to put on your head. But I guess they tried it and Bucky said even a little fuzz began to show up, when Poppy couldn't take it anymore, resigned himself to baldness and bought a hat. So that's my story about hair, my hair and my family's hair. Nothing worthy of a purchase of a theater ticket and it wouldn't surprise me if not too far off, I have to go hat shopping.