Ten years ago, my husband and I were living la dolce vita in Vicenza, Italy. Steve was stationed at Caserme Ederle, and I was a lady of leisure who amused herself by volunteering in Army Community Health Nursing. The secretary at ACHN was an Italian woman of a certain age, with a certain sense of style that can only be achieved by Italian women of a certain age. Nadia took great pride in her appearance, and always strove to present la bella figura. Central to this image was perfectly coiffed hair. She said that she was literally unable to function on a bad hair day, and when such a catastrophe struck, she was compelled to take a personal day and visit her hairstylist to rectify the situation.
But even Nadia would not have gone as far as this teenager in my hometown of North Bay, Ontario, who called 911 because she was having a bad hair day.
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