Well, I'm still thinking about the bank meeting yesterday and have decided to make a complaint. I feel very uneasy about what happened and I'm still not sure why this is. Perhaps I'm making way too much out of it or thinking way too much about it but the meeting made me feel as though I had no choice and that I was somehow less of a person because I had cancer, whose rights and feelings could be ignored.
On an entirely different (and some would argue, much more superficial) subject, my wig has arrived ! I had just finished e-mailing the company that I bought it from online, when the postman rang my buzzer ! I tore open the bag excitedly feeling a little apprehensive as to whether I might be disappointed or not. The colour immediately struck me as a little bit too brown. I've had my hair this colour before in the form of highlights but now that I saw the wig in all its glory, it seemed a little too 'bling'. Telling myself that I'd get used to it in time, I pulled it on, ignoring the instructions to use the two hair combs at the back and front of the wig, to secure it. I looked at myself in the mirror. The afro seemed huge. Masses of cascading curls framed my face which looked even more washed out and uneven from the chemo treatment. The wig seemed to enhance the fact that my eyebrows were thinning and that I had dark shadows under my eyes. They seemed to emphasise the darker shade of my lips now and the fact that my eyes looked more yellow and slightly bloodshot. I felt like a cross between Barbara Streisand and Rick James. I felt much less attractive, and worse still, a fraud. There seemed to be no way that I'd be able to tame the masses of corkscrew curls. I pulled it off, feeling deflated. Who was I kidding ? I was no diva or dancehall queen. I couldn't pull off big hair. I'm too serious a person for that. I'll see what my family think when they return home.