My Aunt Kay had a hairdresser and salon that she used regularly. She made an appointment for me with her stylist--a middle-aged lady with red hair and a strong southern accent. I don't remember her name. The perm would cost $30. That was a lot of money in 1981. But I had it--thanks to all of my hard work at the donut shop. I had visions of becoming the post-perm version of Mike Brady. The day of the appointment had me giddy about my impending transformation. I was ready for my re-birth as a stud.
The appointment took longer than I expected. The shop was filled with middle-aged women, a few of them a bit curious about my procedure. I liked the smell of the chemicals used to give my hair that weather-resistant curl. When finished, I looked in the mirror and saw Mike Brady--with glasses. Oh well, I could remove my glasses for short periods of time if I found myself in a disco-- using my newly seductive power of the perm. I was ready to head back to Pennsylvania with my new look, and my richly rewarding experience as a donut seller.
When I got off the train in Pittsburgh, mom and dad were there to greet me of course. Dad had been busy all summer remodeling my bedroom. It now had faux wood paneling and brown carpet (so the dirt wouldn't show) and was ready for my arrival. New me. New room. And, to top it all off, I was to be a senior in high school. I had my whole life ahead of me. Mom seemed a little reserved as she hugged me--eyeing the perm with some suspicion. I'm not sure if Aunt Kay got her approval on this. At this point it didn't matter. I think she recognized that it made me happy and that was a good thing, given the fact that I literally attempted to run away from home just a year earlier.
The summer of 1981 had been a smashing success in my book. I was ready to conquer the world in my devastating curls.
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