I haven’t done one of these “days of the year” posts for a while, but since it’s InternationaI Wig Day along with “Throwback Thursday,” I thought my famous wig story might be appropriate for today. The actual event took place some time in the 1970s and the story has been added to over the years, but it never seems to get old and it’s pretty funny as well as true – with the exception of a fib or two. There is no moral to this story. It’s just meant to make you smile.
The Women’s Liberation Movement was in full swing. I was living in Appleton, Wisconsin at the time and my career was that of a stay-at-home mom. My sister was living in Minneapolis with a little one of her own. We both thought we were liberated, but the truth is, we were stuck in the throes of house and hearth. One day, however, we did take a day off to go golfing together.
We packed our clubs into the car. Mine generally sat in the dining room corner, untouched and dusty from lack of use. We hired a babysitter and off we went to one of the most challenging of courses in my town. I didn’t have time to fix my hair properly that morning, because of three children – need I say more? So, I popped on a wig, which wasn’t unusual in those days. I was feeling rather perky and looked cute in my Florence Henderson, stylishly coifed, shaggy hair. We decided to splurge and rented a cart.
I wasn’t used to such luxury. I hadn’t golfed in over ten years. I was out of shape, but my hair looked good. It was the perfect setup for what was about to happen. I was in charge of driving the cart, even though my sister paid for it. There’s something about being the oldest that has its benefits. The cart was in fair shape, but what we didn’t know was that the brakes weren’t. As we flew down a hill to the 9th hole, I realized that there was no way we were going to stop unless we ran into something.
As usually happens to me in cases like this, my short 30-year life passed quickly before my eyes. I thought for sure this was it – again. I thought about abandoning ship, but that thought was interrupted by the invasion of a firmly planted oak tree, which became our resting place. In that short period of time, all our golf clubs scattered – many of my children’s little toys which had secretly been hidden in the bag, were strewn across the green grass. My wig was perched on my head sideways. My sister and I pulled ourselves together and proceeded to gather our belongings as a couple young, burly men ran towards us.
Little did we know that they were part of the Green Bay Packers football team. You see, the Packers have always been involved in community and many of them owned businesses around town. They helped us set the cart upright and offered to drive us to the clubhouse, but of course there were no brakes. We thanked them for their kindness. One of them noticed the toys strewn about and asked if they belonged to us. In that moment of being rescued by two professional football players, all I could do was say, “no!” After they left, my sister and I retrieved the toys and replaced them into my bag as she laughed hysterically and said, “Your wig is on the side of your head.” Of course, I was mortified.
This is just one of the funny stories my sister and I have shared. I guess I should write a book and call it “A Tale of Two Sisters.”