If you are a regular reader, then you know I am a drama geek. But don’t worry: Those of you who don’t enjoy theatre won’t have to suffer through a column of dramatics but instead will hopefully have a laugh at one of my moments.
See the photo with this column? I have to admit it is probably four years old, though I do not look any older and my hair has been much longer since it was taken. There’s only one problem — or was at least — with the length, which I had to deal with to make my appearance work for the role I will be playing in Arsenic and Old Lace at The Abbeville Opera House.
The play is set in the 1940’s, and let’s face it, if this were 1941, I would have been drawn and quartered, or the very least tarred and feathered by now.
So in keeping with the times I had to get it all cut off. This was an extremely stressful but necessary turn of events. I knew it before I auditioned and knew it when I took the part, but knowing and actually doing are two different things.
Clip-clip and snip-snip and it was all gone. I now resemble what I can only describe as a severe Alex Keaton or one of his Young Republican buddies. That’s not a slam at Republicans, some of my best friends happen to be Republican.
I spent a few hours mourning its loss, ignoring anything and everything in favor of silent observance. Yes, it will grow back, but it is also a matter of what I have become used to and the little ways it made a difference to me. I really thought I had it under control, but turns out for the first two days that wasn’t really the case.
For two days I scared myself at least three times and I have been getting some funny looks.
On day one, as I walked by any reflective surface, whether it was a window or mirror, I nearly jumped out of my skin if I happened to catch a glimpse of myself. I literally was taken aback, convinced what I saw was another person who had walked up behind me.
I know, sounds strange, but it’s true.
On day two, I was a little more prepared and had actually become accustomed to the change, or at least I thought I was. I made it all day long without once jumping at my own reflection. But to be honest, I think it was because I chose not to look because I wasn’t really happy about it all.
By the time to take a shower came around, getting ready to settle in for the night though was a different story. I walked in, turned on the light, grabbed a towel and was generally messing around when I happened to look up at the mirror where the short-haired gentleman staring back at me uttered a small yelp.
When he made that sound I stepped back and almost tumbled into the tub — and I can’t believe I am actually telling you this.
Needless to say, I didn’t break any bones or my neck, though there was a brief instant there where I teetered, sure I was about to become one of those statistics on accidents and death in the home and fearful word would get out on how it happened.
Instead, all I could do once I had my feet back under me was something that didn’t make more sense and that was to look at that guy again and tell him what an idiot he was.
Over the last few days I have been shocked by the number of looks I have received. I know people are wondering if I am the same guy or someone who bears a small resemblance. At one point on my way to work, grabbing coffee in the same place as usual, I had to actually explain who I was and why I didn’t quite look like me anymore. This could be a good thing in the long run if I have to go on the lam, but for now it’s kind of creepy.
What’s worse is Lola, who I have caught staring at me and wondering if the food from the short-haired guy is worth the creepy factor. If anyone sees my dog running away from town, please grab her and explain it’s still me and it will grow back.
D. C. Moody is a staff writer for The Easley Progress, The Pickens Sentinel and Powdersville Post and can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Views expressed in this column are those of the writer only and do not represent the newspaper’s opinion.