Curler: (n) rollers on which locks of hair are wound or clamped for

For most of my adult life, I have toured with women.

There are worse jobs.

I suppose at a later time, I can go into detail about the physiology, psychology and even the spirituality of being so closely entwined with all these delightful daughters of Eve.

Today I would just like to talk about curling hair.

There was a time when it was very popular. I think the favorability of women curling their hair is based upon how sick they get of straight hair dangling in their face. This creates the backlash—welcoming curls.

There was one particular young woman of my acquaintance who faithfully curled her hair before every show.

Now please understand, when I use the word “show,” I’m not speaking of huge theaters and venues with doormen. In the era of our voyaging, we performed in just as many single-room coffeehouses as concert halls.

It didn’t matter.

This devoted, divinely inspired, dedicated young damsel refused to go onstage anywhere without curling her hair.

Even when there was no stage, she still required fifteen minutes—where all she needed was an electrical outlet, her hot curlers and a chance to roll her hair up, let it set for five minutes and then remove them, leaving behind her do.

She always looked great.

Her hair appeared so beautiful when it was curled that I went to a barbershop and asked them if they could do a perm in my hair. (This was back when that hairstyle had not yet been relegated to the Kingdom of Foolishness.)

It took a lot of courage for me to decide to get a perm, and even more to ask for it. Yet without even taking a breath or missing a beat, the barber responded:

“You don’t have enough hair for a perm.”

This really hurt.

I wasn’t sure I wanted a perm, but to know that I was already bald enough—or on the path to it—that I was not permitted to even consider one, was depressing.

So unlike my traveling companion with her curlers, I just did my best with a soft hairbrush and a splat of water.