It became clear to me on a recent trip that I was declining many offers to participate in various activities because of the inordinate demands of my hair. I either had to wash it, set it, fix it, or re-do it – so much so, that a friend suggested it was like travelling with an extra person. That revelation struck home: my hair was behaving like a moody adolescent and I not only had to tolerate it but accommodate it and give in to its bi-polar attitudes. On warm, sunny days, it simply sat down and refused to cooperate. On humid, windy days, it chose to give me that petulant frizz – the kind of spiteful behavior that mocks you with its arbitrariness. It said: I know there’s no reason for me to do this except to show that I can and you can’t do anything to stop me. And then sometimes, especially indoors in the evening, it was totally compliant and as easy to be with as an affectionate puppy who wants desperately to please. Of course I could choose to ignore it and often I did, only to come back to my hotel later to see it sitting on top of my head like a smashed slice of hair pie – with lumps and bumps where none had been noticed earlier. “Ignore me at your peril,” it said and laughed out loud.
It was on a day that I was determined to be the adult in this relationship that I arrived in Malta and chose to spend an hour sitting in the center of Valetta watching the local Malteds go about their quotidian tasks. It was some sort of school holiday and a constant stream of young mothers pushing strollers ambled by, sometimes accompanied by an older replica of the young woman – her mother. It soon became apparent that there was a prevailing body type on this island and that was a short legged, wide-midriffed endomorph with enormous pendulous breasts. They all seemed confident and comfortable in their skin. But wait a minute, I thought – What about the Mediterranean diet ?