Dear Diary:
The streets of Manhattan seem to grow more jam-packed with every passing day. It was raining heavily as I exited Saks one recent afternoon and the crowds were dense.
As an observant Jewish woman, I’ve worn a wig since my marriage - and wigs don’t take kindly to rain. I opened my umbrella, taking care not to gouge passers-by. I was heading uptown when I had an odd sensation: I felt the bangs that usually cover my forehead rise above my brows and beyond. There was a tugging of my scalp, and then a breeze. Yikes! My wig and I had parted company.
A tall, well-dressed gentleman going in the opposite direction had inadvertently hooked his umbrella into the mesh netting of the wig. Unaware that my “head†was dangling precariously from the spokes of his umbrella, he strode onward.
At first I stood frozen, watching my custom-made wig recede in the distance. Then I sprang into action and took off in his direction, determined to recapture my head before it fell into a puddle and was trampled underfoot. He was moving quickly but caught a red light at the corner. I tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed to my wig.
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