The new sheitelmacher is charging double — and stealing my clients

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ou know that whole “my sheitelmacher is my therapist” stereotype? Well, it doesn’t apply to me. I hate people. Haha, just kidding… sort of. It’s like my personality and my skill set couldn’t agree on who I would be. Let’s do something introverted, said my personality. But look how talented we are, said my hands.

And thus you have: the Shy Sheitelmacher. Ta-da! I have a plaque and everything.

Omigosh, sometimes I embarrass myself with my own thoughts. I grab a broom, sweep some hair off the floor, change out of my FitFlops — the only way to cut! — and get ready to do my usual Wednesday afternoon stock up. A glance at my watch tells me I have exactly an hour and a half until I have to be waiting on the carpool line at Gali’s summer camp. And… go! Makeup, shoes, bag, and I’m out the door.

Gourmet is packed, as usual, but I have a system. I methodically make my way down each aisle, and only allow myself to put items into the cart if I would be able to explain its purchase to both my husband and my grandmother. Foolproof plan, right there. And working, right up until I spy the Jolly Ranchers. Mendy would get it, I mean he’d help me eat them, but Bubby would not have approved or understood. My hand hovers over the pack — Yes? No! Yes? No! — and then I jump, startled, because someone exclaims, “Faigy!” really loudly, in my ear.

It’s not Bubby, back from the dead. Obviously not, who would think that?

I place a hand over my racing heart and turn to smile at Dalia Lewin.

“Dalia, how are you? Haven’t seen you in a while,” I say, and then realize it’s true. She usually came to freshen her wig monthly, and I couldn’t remember when I last saw her. I know she had the wedding in L.A., but after that? My eyes roam over her freshly washed, crimped bandfall. Her face flushes a delicate pink under her carefully applied bronzer.

“I know, I’ve been sooo busy. But I miss our talks! I totally followed your advice for toilet training Manny by the way, absolutely brilliant. I told my entire Pilates class about it.”

“I’m so happy,” I say calmly. We schmooze and catch up, I ask about her summer plans, but I’m not paying attention to her answers. All I can think is, Who washed your wig, who washed your wig, who washed your WIG? And how come you never asked me to crimp it, I can crimp!

She finally turns down a different aisle, thank You, Hashem.

I put the Jolly Ranchers into the cart. Sorry, Bubby.

I’m loading bags into my trunk when I spy Leah Stern pulling up in her Sienna. I love Leah, she hates chitchat as much as I do. Our appointments fill me with a quiet calm that keeps me going through all the Dalias of the day. She hops out, spots me, waves quickly and hurries into the grocery, but not before I notice a freshly washed, beachy waved full bangs lob on her head.

Hey, I know that lob, I helped her purchase that lob.