Deluded though I am, I fancy myself an artist at hiding imperfections to achieve the illusion that I’ve got my act together.
Here’s an example of innocent subterfuge that came back and bit me. I had a leak in my refrigerator which caused an angry dark stain on my hardwood floor about five inches long and two inches wide. I called my Mr. Fixit man and he came out and “fixed it” but apparently not completely. To hide the stain I bought an attractive rug runner and placed it over the imperfection. Problem solved – I thought.
I returned from a trip yesterday and accidently slipped on the rug which slid sideways revealing a 10 inch stain and a second “baby” stain beside it. My innocent ruse failed miserably, and now I’ve got to recall “fix it guy” back out along with a floor refinisher.
Second glitch: My roof has a tiny little leak in a back hallway where only I can see it. Every week I make a note to call the roofer. I even penciled a circle around it to see if the leak was getting worse Well, what do you think after all the rain we’ve been having.
Third opportunity – The trim around the columns on all my porches has begun to rot. I was able to conceal the problem by placing plants around the base of the columns or strategically placing objects d’art in front of them – an old shutter salvaged from a demolished home, a child’s Radio Flyer wagon I found at a garage sale – stuff like that. Suddenly my porch looks like a garage sale itself. I halfway expect people people to start knocking on my door bright and early on Saturday morning.
And of course, the biggest ruse of all and one I am rethinking is my new wardrobe of wigs. I now have five in all – a long black “Cher” wig I wear for fun or when I don’t want to be recognized; a platinum blond one someone gave me which makes me look like a hooker; and three others in various styles I bought when my hair started falling out with chemotherapy.
The other day I saw Robin Roberts on national TV, bald as the day she was born. What courage, I thought. Am I being too vain?
And besides the wigs itch like crazy and I’m always adjusting them. I have to excuse myself to run to the restroom about every 30 minutes to jerk it off and scratch. But, again, there is that ‘cone head” problem I was born with and I don’t want to scare young children.
What to do about all these imperfections? There will always be something muddying the waters of our all too seldom serene river of life. It’s not the big things that kill us, it’s the tiny little things that become the proverbial thorn in our sides that drive us crazy.
I can ignore them and like Scarlet, tell myself I will worry about them tomorrow. Or I can address them one by one. Today I will deal with the refrigerator problem and maybe that will make me feel so good I will call a roofer. Probably not – but maybe next month?
The hair thing will be the last to confront.