It’s with a heavy heart that I announce the passing of my shower cap. Born in 1985 in a London factory alongside other precious Liberty items such as scarves and drapes and dresses, today, May 17, 2020, was her last. She was a gift from Betsy Coughlan, a friend who was heading off to London from Fontainbleau, whereas I would reside in Paris. At the time, it seemed an excellent token of our commitment to an enduring friendship.
This was no ordinary disposable plastic head covering like the ones found on the bathroom counters of hotels worldwide. My headdress was made of the most luxurious Liberty cotton imprinted with large pink and blue rose blooms, as expectant as a sea of blushing schoolgirls off to Somerset in their Roman bathing costumes. It was the Rolls Royce of shower caps.
We have traveled extensively: to the steam rooms of Lech, Austria, alongside members of the Jordanian royal family, to Washington, New York, Munich, and Stockholm. You were there mere hours before the opera ball in Vienna.
Like the viciousness of Covid-19 attacking the elderly, a black mould began to spread and consume the plastic liner of my beloved cap. No amount of bleach or Clorox, or hydoxychloroquinine could save her. Considered ancient at thirty-five years of age, she could have been a centenarian if not for the offending man-made waterproof liner. In any event, it was a long marriage, and thank goodness a hasty parting. I was with her until the very end. A private ceremony was held.