My friend Bill is a snappy dresser with very good taste. He's retired now, but had an illustrious career designing display windows for J.C. Penney's. Yesterday we were talking about how he'd been feeling lately.
"I'm pretty much okay now, but for about three weeks I had walking pneumonia. I couldn't leave the apartment, I felt so exhausted. The worst part was my hair. I didn't have the energy to go get it cut. It got so bad, I decided to cut it myself, to control the fluff."
I laughed, and asked if I could take photos for a hairpisode. He didn't know about my blog, so I filled him in, and he was glad to oblige. And, as often happens with Bill, my hairpisodes sparked a memory.
"Oh, I've always had hair issues," he said, smiling. "For one whole year in high school, I had DA hair. It must have looked awful, but my mother never said a word."
I'd never heard the term DA hair, so it was Bill's turn to fill me in. I guess I'd only known the euphemistic term "duck's tail." But by golly, there's even a Wikipedia entry on DA (duck's ass) hair.
Bill had another memory as well. "Then there was the era, I think it was the 1970's, when it was okay for men to get perms. I got one, too, it was curly all over, like an afro. I'd just gotten it, I remember, and went to some party. I went into the bathroom at one point. There was a lit candle in there, right next to the mirror. I was trying to freshen up by splashing water on my face. I leaned over, trying to be really careful not to make a mess with the water, and out of the corner of my eye I saw this blue glow. My hair had caught fire. I smacked my hand on the top of my head, which put it out. It left a big burned patch right in the top center."
Thanks, Bill, awesome memories.