The Wig

I guess if there's anything at all that's positive about cancer, it's that people buy cool wigs. My mom has a few of her own, and one that looks exactly like her real hair. It's short and brown and layered and styled just like her own hair.

The other night she was showing me her new fantastically remodeled closet (I'm extremely jealous. My closet blows.) and I saw her wig sitting up on its little fake head so I pulled it down and tried it on. Just then my sister came in holding Calvin so I went to see if he'd recognize me. He looked like he was going to cry, and kept pushing me away. That gave me a better idea.

All of the men were at the kitchen table talking about whatever it is men talk about, so none of them saw me walk up behind Andy. I bent over behind his chair and started nibbling on his neck. I heard my 23 year old brother yell in a panicked voice, "Mom, stop it!" and then Andy reached his hand back to feel my head. He patted around for a split second until he recognized that the feel of the hair had to belong to his mother-in-law, and then he just stiffened and went totally still. When he turned around he was the brightest red I've ever seen him. I laughed for like an hour.