By Bill Williams


I had dropped something in front of the tv set and was bending over about a foot from the screen.

I felt something tugging at my scalp and realized that the force was coming from the tube. My hair was standing straight out. A magnetic force was waving my hair. That is not necessarily good.

It was the first time that my hair ever had a wave, and I knew that it would not be permanent.  It would not be a permanent wave.  Sure enough, I stepped back and my hair fell like wheat before the scythe.

“Do that again,” she said.


“Do that again. Bend over in front of the tv set. I want to see what happens.”

I did it again. Got up to about 10 inches from the television and my hair, once again, stood straight out.

She laughed.

And then she said: “Why I can count every hair on your head!”

She pretended to count.

“Thirty three, in all,” she said, grinning like a showoff who had a head full of hair and knew how to wear it.

I back away from the set. “My hair is my own business,” I said. “I don’t have as much as I had a few years ago, but I have more now than I did when I was born.”

“No argument there,” she said, “but don’t ever get your picture made with Harrison Ford or Richard Gere.”

“I won’t,” I said, “but now you have done it! You have thrown down the gauntlet. You have stirred the ire within me.  I am going to tell the world about your bedroom slippers and everyone will think you are weird just like me.”

“No you don’t!”

But here it is, folks, the secret that my wife goes to bed with every night and gets up with in the morning. She has this pair of old bedroom slippers that came over on the Mayflower and was worn by Martha Washington before finding their way into the closet of my beloved. She has other slippers but these little fuzzies are her favorites.

She can find them in total darkness.   She might have staggered off to bed in a semi-comatose condition and dropped one under a recliner and another under the kitchen table. She is better at finding them at 3 a.m. in total darkness than Hypo our three-legged dog can find a bone – and that dog was born nose first and her smeller has been growing ever since.

There is a small problem with the light on, however. It is hard to distinguish the right from the left. At least, that’s what she says. She finds out when she gets both of them on. One, possibly both, just don’t fit right. Then, she has to take them off, switch them and put them back on.

That’s why, she says, she has labeled them on the bottom with a big “R” and a big “L.”

I can understand why she loves those little slippers. They are soft. They have a good feel.

And they have duct tape on the bottoms.

She gathers them to her bosom and says:

“I love my little slippers. You know how your cornflakes and bananas brighten your morning? Well, my slippers brighten my night. It’s like rekindling old friendships every time I put them on.”

She put them on.

She radiated.

And me with 33 hairs on my head.