Carol McCrite

OK, I’m toying with the idea of moving back to Georgia and nailing my feet to the ground ... as the late humorist Lewis Grizzard once wrote. My reasons vary considerably from Grizzard’s but are nonetheless viable.

Georgia’s governor is a cowboy. He takes chances. Bets on the long shot. Doesn’t mind taking bullets and, in fact, has some nice scars to prove he has been in more than a few shootouts.

I have an ancestor similar to Georgia’s governor. He was a Texas Ranger back in the Jesse James era. Family genealogy ... mixed with some salty myths and legends, make me proud to descend from such stock.

At this juncture, however, I’m not interested in any violence, but I am dang sure interested in getting a decent hair cut for a change. I heard once upon a time you could get a wash and cut for five bucks at a flea market just over the North Carolina line.

To re-open Georgia and free the citizens to have close contact at any price is something a cowboy would consider a small price to pay for sanity. Better than moonshine, some might say.

But back to me and my immediate needs. If I could get somebody ... ANYBODY ... to cut my hair while honoring the 6-foot distancing mandate, I would be headed southbound and out of town. My COVID hair is getting out of hand and I’m about to fire the current stylist – ME!

I have mastered the front and sides where most selfies are made, but as we move around to the back, it gets complicated. I see now just why I paid good money to have professionals cut and style my stubborn, wavy Irish mop.

My mother cut her own hair during World War II when she was stuck at home with me and no car to boot. I remember watching her and thinking she missed her calling by being just a mom. Her straight-as-a-poker, thick auburn hair was manageable. My own dark curls that spring to life in every direction tend to mimic my father’s row upon row of waves that were problematic with barbers.

I’m looking in the mirror now and about ready to say, “hell fire damnation” and chop away! Spike the uneven ends and let curls have their way.

The football helmet look might come back in style when this virus leaves the planet, but I think I could splash a bit of purple dye across the sides ... maybe throw a little turquoise glitter across the bangs ... dig out a pair of silver hoop earrings and be ready for just about anything that’s going on in the next month.

Oh wait! Nothing is going on. I can just let the hair have its own party until all our wonderful, life-saving, talented hairdressers return to their stations here in Western North Carolina. Or ... sneak down into Georgia and nail my feet to the ground!

Carol McCrite lives in Whittier.