Every expensive wig, I’m told, deserves a proper mannequin head.
Apparently, that’s how you keep it in good shape.
Now, when you’ve never bought a wig before, you also haven’t spent much time shopping for mannequin heads.
Neither had my husband.
Being the wonderfully practical man that he is, he immediately went online and ordered one.
Problem solved.
Or so he thought.
A few days later, a parcel arrived.
Inside was… Javier.
Now, let me explain something about Javier.
He is extremely handsome.
He has an impressive jawline.
Excellent cheekbones.
Very distinguished.
He also has the head size of an international rugby player.
My wig…
…does not.
So, every evening, my rather elegant wig attempts to perch on top of Javier’s enormous head like a tiny hat that’s made a very poor life decision.
It’s a constant balancing act.
Thankfully Javier can’t sneeze but if he could, the whole arrangement would look like it was auditioning for a comedy sketch.
Naturally, my husband couldn’t understand why I was laughing.
He had done exactly what any caring husband would do.
He’d researched.
He’d ordered.
He’d solved the problem.
The only tiny detail he’d overlooked was that he’d bought a male mannequin head instead of a female’s and it was approximately twice the size required.
Which, if you ask me, is a very husband sort of mistake.
The funny thing is that I couldn’t possibly replace him now.
There was a problem.
For reasons known only to Amazon, mannequin heads apparently fall into the same category as underwear.
Non-returnable.
That was the end of the discussion.
Javier wasn’t going anywhere.
So, there he remained. At some point we stopped referring to him as “the mannequin.”
He became Javier.
Our unexpectedly permanent house guest.
Sitting proudly in the corner of the room with my rather elegant wig balanced precariously on his oversized head, looking as though he’d wandered into the wrong dressing room and decided to stay.
Once something has a name in our home, it’s family.
So now he sits patiently in the corner of the room, faithfully looking after my wig.
Occasionally looking slightly startled.
Always looking overdressed.
Visitors don’t quite know what to make of him.
Do they say hello?
Do they pretend he isn’t there?
Do they ask why there’s a mysterious gentleman wearing women’s hair in my bedroom?
I’ve decided every home should have a Javier.
Not necessarily because everyone needs a mannequin head.
But because everyone needs something completely ridiculous to laugh at.
Cancer has a habit of filling rooms with serious conversations.
Javier quietly reminds us, there’s still plenty of room for silly ones too.
And every time I see my beautiful wig balancing precariously on his giant head…
I’m reminded that love doesn’t have to be perfect.
Sometimes it just arrives in a cardboard box…
with the wrong gender, wrong-sized mannequin head inside.
Still Me By Rashmi 
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