Remember that song by Don Henley, “The Heart of the Matter?” 

Love that song. He was onto something. “Forgiveness. Even if… you don’t love me anymore.” 

This blog is not about that. But, I thought of ol’ Don the other day when we stopped in to grab a little bite at a diner in Farmingdale near Runner’s Edge. Hubby was buying some new sneakers. I actually went for a two-mile run while he shopped and the girls played hide and seek among the racks. I definitely got the better end of the deal, especially since the streets were flat! Yes! No hills or mini-mountains like my runs in Locust Valley when I resort to leaning forward in an attempt to reach the peak of every other street. And lean back so I don’t eat it on the down hills. 

Where was I? Oh yes. The diner. There was an old JukeBox in there. Got me all excited when I saw the titles in there. Whitney! Henley! Michaels! and of course Gloria Estefan! And only $1.00 for two songs. 

I asked the waiter if it worked, and he happily moved it over, plugged it in and voila! Lights streamed across the top and the baby was just begging to sing! But, sigh, as is the case sometimes in life, my idea of crazy doesn’t jive with the rest of the crew who is half way out the door already. We already paid. It’s time to go.

Bye bye sweet box of music. Save me a dance for another day. You accomplished what you needed to in my life for the moment. Inspiring the title for this blog. I’ll return for a slow dance on anotha day, anotha day.

So, back to the title of this blog. Ever since the dry air of winter took over New York weather, I have had seriously growing issues with my scalp. I’m not talking dandruff either. I just have this very irritated head, as in I always want to massage it. Not scratch. Not pull out my hair, which I learned this morning is an actual condition some people suffer from. I almost gagged in bed when I read on my iPhone that there are even those who are addicted to pulling out their hair and eating the follicles. Yuck to the mega-yuck!

Anyway, I just want to touch my roots. There. I said it. And admitting it is half the battle, right? And my close friends and family have gently approached me with, “Do you realize that your hands have not left your head for the entire time we’ve been talking?”

“Really. Oh.” My bad.

And the more bold will say, “Do you think you need to take a shower? Just sayin…”

And the best one I’ve heard recently, “I’m imagining that you’re over there still touching your head. I look over and yup. Just as I imagined. You’re still touching your head.”

It’s been exactly 48 minutes and thirty-two seconds since my last touch. Because I woke up this morning, determined to tackle this obsession of mine. Step one: I warmed up some fresh coconut oil and massaged it into my scalp. Yup, this desi-chick be looking extra home to the motherland Indian today. Step two: I put on a winter hat to hide my greaser look. 

And then I popped on my new reading glasses to distract from the “Why is this girl wearing a winter hat inside the cafe?” look. But then again, the hat makes me look kinda artsy. To add one final element to my disguise, I dabbed a touch of toothpaste on my upper lip where a pimple threatens me by the second. “I will zap you before you rise!” I say to the mirror with my best Luke Skywalker stare. 

So, when you see me today, tell me you like my glasses. Ask me why I have a hat on inside the house. And go ahead, even wonder if I noticed that I have toothpaste on my face. But don’t, and I mean DON’T mention the coconut oil in my head. Because at this very second, I’m experiencing serious victory and I don’t want to sabotage it. My fingers are typing, after all. They’re not in my hair! 

Fifty-one minutes and twelve seconds now, but who’s counting…

** SO, how about you? Any weird, nervous-type, addictive behaviors out there? Please tell me I’m not the only one!! 🙂 

What’s your song of choice in your Wednesday’s JukeBox? Would you dance in the middle of a diner just for fun? Please tell me I’m not the only one! 🙂