I’ve had some good adventures in my life.
Going to Turks and Caicos with my family—now that was a good adventure.
Traveling through Vermont as a missionary—that was another good adventure.
Being on Fox and Friends in New York…well, not so much.
Don’t get me wrong. The people at Fox and Friends were so sweet. They made me feel totally at home and completely comfortable, some of the best people you’ll ever meet.
It was all about the hair.
I showed up at the studio bright-eyed and bushy-tailed around 7am. It took me an excruciating three hours at home to find the perfect outfit to bring and I brought along about five of them, just in case I changed my mind. I didn’t have a stitch of makeup on since they told me they would do my makeup for me, AND my hair.
Imagine—someone totally devoted to simply making me look beautiful (or so I thought).
First, I was ushered into makeup. It was a little room with a mirror, a couple of outlets, and great lighting. The makeup artist came in and we talked while she made me pretty. And she did an excellent job, too. I wanted to pack her up and stick her in my suitcase. And she was just a little, bitty, bit of thing so she probably would have fit!
After I got my “face” on, I was then ushered into hair. It was another little room just like the one I had been in for makeup, except instead of palettes of color and sponges, there was a myriad of hair products and curling irons.
Hoooweeeee! I was going to enjoy this. My bone-straight hair was primed and ready for the artist’s touch.
I should have run then. But I trusted. Blast it all, I trusted!
A slender, gorgeous woman with dreadlocks walked in and introduced herself.
Wait, dreads? Is this a bad omen?
She began to do my hair with her curling iron. I watched how she was doing it in the mirror and felt my throat tighten a bit as she wrapped the hair away from my face in a swoop-like fashion. It wasn’t at all like the loose, natural curls I usually put in my hair.
“Relax,” I told myself. “She’s a professional. She knows what she’s doing.”
I then felt my stomach do some flip-flops as she began to brush out the curls with a bristly paddle brush.
“Oh, Dear Gussy!,” I heard myself scream (in my head). Brushing out curls could only mean one thing. I was going to look like I had big, fat wings on the side of my head.
I watched the years slip away as I stared into the mirror. It was no longer 2007. It was the year 1978 and I was watching “Charlie’s Angels” on television, eating cold Spaghettios straight out of the can.
I had wings.
My breathing got tighter in my chest and I felt myself slipping into panic mode.
“’t’s okay,’ I was telling myself. ‘in just a minute she is going to whip out some miracle serum, run it through my hair and transform this Farrah Fawcett mess into long, loose, natural curls that look just like Taylor Swift on a good, smoothed-out day.
Instead, she reached for a big bottle of hairspray just as someone with an earpiece and a clipboard came in and said. “She needs to be on in sixty seconds.”
Now, I was officially in a panic.
She started spraying. I started pulling at my hair, trying in desperation to get rid of the blasted wings.
“What are you doing?” She asked. “You’re messing it up!”
“What do you think I’m doing?! This looks horrible! I looked like I just stepped out of the 70s with this hairdo! It’s repulsive! It’s disgusting! My hair is actually bigger than my bee-hind! I couldn’t mess this up if I tried. I’m about to be on national television.This won’t do! This won’t do AT ALL!”
Well, that’s what I was thinking. What I really said was, “Ummm, it’s real fluffy.”
In seconds, I was ushered out on the set and the prop director was spending the final seconds telling me about the placement of all the items in front of me. I was nodding, but all I was thinking about was…MY HAIR!
Everyone is going to see this hair.
Is it too late to run?
Cue the theme song from “Charlie’s Angels….”
And so went my experience on Fox and Friends.
I still can’t remember a word I said. All I remember is leaving the set in a stupor, reaching for an elastic band in my purse, and pulling my do back in a ponytail before I left the studio.
There is a reason wings stayed in the 70s.