"You may rrree-moof your vigs!"

"The second thing to remember is that a REAL WITCH is always bald."
"Bald?" I said.
"Bald as a boiled egg," my grandmother said.
I was shocked. There was something indecent about a bald woman. "Why are they bald, Grandmamma?"
"Don't ask me why," she snapped. "But you can take it from me that not a single hair grows on a witch's head."
"How horrid!"
"Disgusting," my grandmother said.
"If she's bald, she'll be easy to spot," I said.
"Not at all," my grandmother said. "A REAL WITCH always wears a wig to hide her baldness. She wears a first-class wig. And it is almost impossible to tell a really first-class wig from ordinary hair unless you give it a pull to see if it comes off."
.........
I found myself thinking about this book the last couple of days. Zoe had her birthday party on Sunday with 10 friends and their parents. I so wanted to feel normal that I wore my wig for the first time. I actually felt more freakish than anything. But I wore it again last night for a date with Joseph. I felt like a witch from Roald Dahl's world.
At least I don't have claws, missing toes, big nose holes, colored pupils and blue spit, right?