a boy called frank mills

It's been VERY mild around these parts for the past month or so. Generally at this time of year, we're well past our first snow fall and everyone is hunkering down for a long winter's nap. Last night it got up to 66 degrees. I think winter is getting kind of pissed off though. It was 40-something this morning and really windy. Yah, it messed up my hair. I buy the "maximum" hold because I need to be able to sustain my sculpted hairdo through my long and arduous walk from the parking lot.

Speaking of hairspray, I remember when I discovered it - not discovered it like de Leon, but discovered found something that was there that other people already knew about, but of which I was ignorant. Come to think of it, I exactly discovered it like de Leon, but I didn't try to take all the credit for myself. My hair as a young child was a flaxen blonde. It was tame and easily styled. My hair was glorious. Alas, this story is not all puppy dogs and lollipops. During my teen years the ravages of puberty netted and tangled it, making a former source of beeming pride into a dingy, rat's nest of formless mass. My mophead and I traveled around, downtrodden, for about a year before I found my first true love, hairspray.

Suddenly I was able to style and control my hair like a regular person! It was fantastic! Oh Joy! Long were the days of my glee. Until the day I mistook a can of deodorant for a can of hairspray. Happily I applied. My head did not sweat at all that day. I did smell kind of funny, but whatever, I rolled with it. It wasn't until the next morning that I discovered my mistake. And until today my shame had been a private one.