When I was around nine years old we lived, for a couple of years in
beautiful Niagara Falls, NY.
While living here my mother was in the middle of her "Being nothing but a housewife experiment", which was ultimately a miserable failure. Now don't get me wrong, she was a fine cook (made better by my father's instruction) an incredible and manic housekeeper. As far as decorating, she could do much with little and she could even sew a little, when pressed. It's just that this stuff bored her senseless. And when bored, there was scotch.
One of the things that she did to alleviate her boredom, besides appointments with the Air Force Base psychiatrist and a Librium prescription, was to join the Officers Wives Club. And amongst the many activities that the wives involved themselves in was a bowling league.
But this was no ordinary Officers-Wives-Club-ladies-bowling-league. No. It was a wig league. Perhaps I'd better explain. Upon joining and paying a member fee, each gal was given a catalog from a wig and hairpiece company. They were then allowed to place an order for their choice of any cut, color and style of 100% human hair wig or wiglet.
Then they met every Friday to have spirited competition at the local bowling alley. At the end of the season, they received their wigs and held a big luncheon at the Officers Club and wore them.
What, you may be wondering, did my mother order? Well fortunately for her, she had a little gayling son who encouraged her to get, what I knew would be, the best wig of the bunch. And it looked exactly like this:
The wig would be employed for the next couple of years whenever my folks had a cocktail or dinner party. And it was generally teamed with a 'down the block from Pucci' print one piece hostess outfit that had a halter top and palazzo pants.
So let's hear it for the ladies who bowl. And lunch.
