Good morning, my little yellow sugar chicks! How was your Easter?
PeaceBang’s was lovely, thank you, and she feels eminently grateful that following the big day, she was able to take an actual, whole Day Off during which she slept, ate leftover chocolate torte, and read most of Jeffrey Eugenides’ marvelous novel, Middlesex. I feel like a new woman! A new woman with the same body, mind, soul, personality, life situation, tax return, bitten down fingernails, family and friends, but still… relatively new. New in the spiritual sense.
Just a word about dandruff, named for the Baron De Dandruff, who was so beloved in the court of King Gustav of Sweden that all the lords and ladies could be found frantically working cheese graters over their scalps before important events in a mad effort to emulate the Baron’s flaky look. In that time –and this was roughly between the time of the Vikings and the Renaissance, you understand — you just weren’t DRESSED if you didn’t have big white flakes adorning your shoulders. Men and women took to wearing black shawls just to highlight their Dandruff. It was all the rage until it was revealed that the Baron de Dandruff had committed unnatural acts with lap dogs, at which time the tide of fashion and society turned against him with a vengeance.
Which is all to saythat dandruff is never a good look and if you suspect you have it, please investigate solutions. You may be turned out in your very finest, prepared to speak in the voice of Wisdom herself, and charming in every meaningful sense of the word. But if your shoulders and back are sprinkled with little bits of your scalp, my dears, the general public will generally greet you not with the admiration you deserve but with the ancient, evocative expression, known in many cultures, that sounds something like this: “eeeeeewwwww.”
