by Shirley Bahlmann
Okay, if no one else is going to write, I'll tell you about another person I met at my Pageant booth. He wore a goatee, a baseball hat, and an elbow band of some black, stretchy material that he kept tightening as he talked to me at length about his family, jobs, places he'd lived, and even about his hair.
"My wife shaved my head this morning," he said, lifting his cap to show me a bald scalp. "I used to use Nair on it. Then I went to the doctor and he told me to stop it."
I thought he was going to say something about how Nair is formulated for legs only and is too strong for sensitive scalp skin. I was only partly right.
"The doc told me that Nair was restricting the blood vessels in my scalp," he explained. "If I didn't stop it, I could die."
A headline flashed through my mind, "Man Dead From Nair Head." It was tragic.
Finally, I told my visitor I needed to fill my water bottle. He accompanied me out of the craft fair. As I headed for the ladies' room, I felt a shudder go down my back. Who would have thought that an innocent pink bottle could carry something so deadly. One thing's for sure... if I ever use a bottle of Nair again, I'm not going to be brushing the hair back out of my eyes until I've sanitized my hands.