I DIGIS YOUR WIGIS

I have a very dear friend (who has had his own battles with cancer but that's his story) we call Wigis. When he was at school it was 'The thing' to add 'is' to every word. sois youis wouldis talkis likeis thesis. Wig (that's what we call him now) had a lot of hair and his friends would tease him that it looked like a wig. So it became "I digis your wigis." And, as names do, it stuck. One of the first thoughts that popped into my head when I found out I would lose my hair was; "I wonder if I'll digis my wigis?"

I have already decided to shave my head. The slow, chernobyl-like fallout would be too devastating for me to endure. And those head ice-caps sound like medieval, ice-cream headache induced torture. I haven't worked out if I'll have the guts for rock bald ala Robin Roberts, wear one of those cap wrap things that come in every color but attractive, or shall I get myself a wigis. 

I broke the Chemo news to my daughters: age 7 going on 30 and 11 going on: "Please don't embarrass me showing up at school bald, please, please, please." They unanimously decided I should don a day-goo Nicki Minaj wig. As if Chemo wasn't enough, i should look like a clown? I went onto the internet to Google wigs. Turns out there are lots of wigs out there and Beyonce's hair is as real as her Obama inauguration anthem. Browsing through wig after wig I found a few I could wear. I could go long, thick, sexy and look like an anemic, buttless Kardashian. According to numerous websites I can look like any celebrity I choose. Turns out all I have to do to look like a Victoria's Secret super model is don a Heidi Klum wig. If only I'd known this years ago. I can go short, medium, spiked, curly or a style I have always lusted after: dead straight. I have options. I may end up with a wigis I digis.