For those of you waiting with bated breath over whether or not my mother reads my blog: it came up over dinner last night. As expected, she only reads it when a coworker forwards it to her, which happens if the blog is actually about her. (So you might still be in luck, Dan.)
Anyway, tonight I’m here to talk about the Big Bulbous Hair Lady. Very longtime readers with extremely good memories might remember a previous post about her; the rest of you can read about her here. Or, if you’re too lazy to click through, here’s an excerpt:
If you’ve lived in my neighborhood long enough, you’ve probably seen the Big Bulbous Hair Lady. Her hair is the color of a Golden Retriever’s coat and has the consistency of the matted fur in its armpits—it is sort of like a giant uni-dred, but looks more like a big burlap sack than it does hair. It measures a good foot and a half in width, it hangs down five inches lower on the right side than it does on the left, and towers several inches above the top of the woman’s forehead, though she herself has a rather small, feeble frame.
The funny thing about the BBHL is that nearly every time I mention her to a New Yorker, specifically an Upper West Sider, the usual reaction is something like this:
“OH MY GOD, I know exactly who you’re talking about! That old lady with the other-worldly creature that passes as hair!”
Yesterday evening, I was walking with my mother and cocoframosi in Herald Square. There, among the slow walkers, the bootleg DVD peddlers, the chit-chatters and the tourists, taking a break and sitting on a standpipe, was the BBHL in all over her hairnet-restrained bulbous glory. Her back was to us, giving us the best view of all—a full frontal (backal?) of the amorphous mass. It’s the kind of thing that makes you do a triple-take:
1) What the…?
2) Is that a wig or a dead dog?
3) How on Earth is that possible???
After we passed by her, my cocoframosi turned to us and said, “Did you SEE that?”
“Oh my god! That was the Big Bulbous Hair Lady!” I said.
“I’ve SEEN her before! Where have I seen her before? I know I’ve seen that somewhere,” my mother repeated in disbelief.
“I think she lives on the Upper West Side,” I said. “I’ve seen her there a bunch.”
My cocoframosi was still in shock. “It—“ she stopped. “It was like a beehive!”
And she didn’t mean the hair style.
So tonight I met up with a college friend and her coworkers, who had extra free tickets to Broadway show. I was barely three words into my story about seeing BBHL when one of them exclaimed:
“I know EXACTLY who you’re talking about! That lady with that—that—that inexplicable, bizarre wad of—that hairdo!”
I’m telling you, she’s famous.