If you look at my blog post where John Harrison is talking about Cotton Rosser you can see my fake hair getting ready to leave the scene. I was doing a promo video his Twin Cities Bloomer Trailer and my hair fell off!

This is genetic because my mom also had problems with her wig. Below the video is an except from Chapter 6 of Never Dull!

Chapter 6 from Never Dull!

Mom was so ahead of the trends. She was a fashionista before that word was invented. Dad had to keep his clothes in another closet to allow room for her vast wardrobe of handmade cowboy shirts and pants—the more sparkly, the better. She had cowboy boots in white, black, green, blue, pink, and red, with matching cowboy hats in every color.

The barrels were painted differently at each rodeo, and she would color-coordinate her outfit to match. Her favorite was red and white at the Livermore Rodeo. The Madonna Inn Rodeo had pink barrels; she wore a pink hat, pink shirt, and pink boots.  

At the Cow Palace one year, the barrels were red, white, and blue. She loved that! Then the Cow Palace switched to orange barrels, and that really ticked her off. She looked terrible in orange. 

Mom hated her natural hair color. Mousy brown was just too boring. Even though she knew blonds had more fun, she wanted to be a redhead. To save money, she dyed her own hair. Because she didn’t want the hair dye to get on her jammies, she colored her hair while naked. 

We lived out in the country, and the only phone in the house at the time was in the living room, in front of the plate glass window. She sat on the fake leather couch and yacked away on the phone. Her cheeks were sticking to the cushions, but that was the only place to sit. 

She completely lost track of time because the riveting phone conversation.

The mailman came every day at 10 a.m. and surprised her when he knocked on the front door.

“Oh crap! Gotta go!” She hung up, stopped, dropped, and rolled. Then crawled on her hands and knees to the bathroom. She took a hot shower and laughed at herself. She used the towel to wipe the fog off the mirror.

AGGHHHH! Her hair was fire engine red. 

Wigs were popular then, and thankfully she had a large assortment.

That weekend was the Oakdale Rodeo. It had just rained, and the arena was a muddy mess, so she decided to take her horse, Sugar, because he was so sure-footed.

The rodeo announcer said, “Next up is Marian Sharp. The louder you cheer, the faster they run!” Mom cued Sugar perfectly, and he wrapped the first barrel. With explosive speed, he ran to the second barrel. The ground was slick. As he went around that barrel, Sugar slipped and almost fell. When he stumbled, he jerked the reins out of her hand. She grabbed the saddle horn with both hands. Her hat fell off and took her wig with it. The announcer yelled, “Holy moly!” The horse was such an athlete. He got to his feet and kept running to the third barrel.

The announcer saw the wig and the hat in the mud. With alarm, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, for your safety, remain in the stands! A rodent has attacked Marian’s head and is still in the arena. Look at the blood on her head! It is bright red and she is holding on for dear life!”

Sugar turned the third barrel on his own. She got the reins back in her hands as they crossed the finish line. Everyone was looking at her with their mouths hanging open. She didn’t cry or try to flee. She just laughed. She ruffled her hair and shrugged her shoulders. Her reaction is not what anyone expected from a woman who was so concerned about her looks. But her attitude was, “Shit happens. Nothing I can do about it.”

The announcer saw Dad jump the fence and jog in to retrieve the wig. The announcer said, “To subdue this vicious animal, we have retained the services of world-renowned veterinarian Dr. Nolan Sharp.” Dad started laughing and gave a thumbs-up.

The announcer said, “I’d be afraid if I were you, Doc. Do you have a tranquilizer? Are you armed? That thing is ferocious. Look what it did to your wife’s head.” When Dad got close, he pretended to shoot the rodent with his fingers. He holstered his ‘gun,’ picked up the wig, placed it on his head, and jogged back.

I am embarrassed to report that this would not be the last time my dad wore a wig. Actually, I am not embarrassed. I am  proud of him. He knew exactly who he was, and would do anything to get a laugh.