What's my blog called? That's right: Claire in Tuba-Town. And what's it about? Right again: it's mostly about wigs.
Well, it turns out that my life is actually about wigs. Not once, but twice recently, I have been accused of wearing a wig.
Wig accusation #1: Walking down my street a few weeks ago to the Christmas market, a man I was about to walk past looked up at me and shouted, "It's a wig! Of course, I knew it right away!" (rough translation). In this situation, I was so taken aback that all I could really muster out of me was, "Uh, actually, no." I'm sure he was convinced by that one.
Wig accusation #2: Sitting in a bar in Barcelona and chatting with friends and one non-friend, a heavy, sweaty and unattractive older British man, who thought he was all that but, as previously mentioned was a heavy, sweaty and unattractive. "When you walked in here, I was sure it was a wig. I would have bet on it."
So readers, what do you think, how should I take this? As a compliment -- my hair just looks so perfectly styled that I could have bought it that way? As an insult -- you look like a bald person and you're hair is so freaking poofy that it couldn't possibly be your own? Seriously, I need your help to interpret these incidents.