Wiglet

This morning's conversation with my grandmother* (her words in italics):

So what did you think of Michelle Obama's inaugural ball gown?

I liked it!  I thought she looked lovely, the off-the-shoulder bit and all.

Hmmph.

What?

I thought it was not a good idea, for a woman with a stomach.  It did her butt some favors, though.  She's a swayback, just like I am.  That's very common among Africans.

Maybe we have some Africa in our blood, gram.

What?

(major pause)

And her hair--did you like her hair?

Yeah, I thought it looked good.

Hmph.  I would have put it up, had a cascade of curls coming down the side.  Maybe a wiglet.

A wiglet?

Yes.  A wiglet.

I think she was trying to go for the more natural look.

I know what she was trying to do.  That doesn't mean she was right.

Oh.


*[In all these boxes of things she's been sending down was one of my grandma's old wigs.  It only then occurred to me how strange it was that both my grandmother and great-grandmother wore wigs the whole time I was growing up.  Not for dress up, for real.  My great-grandmother wouldn't leave the house without hers, even when it was all flat in the back and showed the netting underneath because she took naps in the thing all the time.

And I thought pantyhose was uncomfortable.]