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By Leslie Noyes

I was twelve or so when I began reading Erma Bombeck’s column in the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal. I’d grab the paper as soon as Mom or Dad had their way with it and go directly to the editorial pages where Erma’s column generally sat right above Art Buchwald’s just below the fold.

I’d inhale Erma’s wit and wisdom, then Art’s, with even greater gusto than that I’d always reserved for the funny pages. How I miss the tingle of anticipation I’d indulge in while scanning the paper to get my fix.

So you might imagine my excitement when I made plans to attend the workshop that bears Erma’s name. All the clichés rang true: Over the Moon! Jumping for Joy! Growing a Mess of Curly Hair!

Never heard that last adage? Neither had I, but sometime between registering for the conference and packing my Jeep for the drive to Dayton, my perennially straight hair decided to grow in curly. I’m sixty seven years old with no hairstyling skills to speak of. What the absolute heck was going on? It had to be a case of overactive anticipation at work.

But I hadn’t read Erma all those years for nothing. No siree. I packed up approximately nine billion dollars in hair styling products designed to tame curly hair and hauled them to Dayton where they made exactly no difference in how closely I resembled an oversized Oompa Loompa.

The great thing, though, was that I laughed so long, learned so much, and met so many terrific people at the conference that I almost forgot about my World of Willy Wonka look—until I got a peek at the photos from the weekend. All I needed was green hair dye and a pair of white overalls to complete the look.

Still, it’s safe to say that I’ve embraced my new curls. In a choke hold.

Peace, people.

—Leslie Noyes

Leslie Noyes is the author of Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort, along with five other books in the Happy Valley series. She and her husband live in the Florida panhandle where writing keeps her out of trouble. Most of the time.