BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

In a few days Destinee and her little high school friends will be leaving on their spring break trip to Padre. I hope and pray they don't come home with any more tattoos. Kids should save a few things to look forward to when they turn 18. That's why I support the parental consent section of the body-piercing bill before the Texas House.

I wish my parents had kept me from getting my lower lip pierced in 1969. Actually, it happened when I collided with a guy on the pep squad who wore braces. A trip to the malt shop has never been the same. Straws are impossible and, trust me, there's nothing attractive about malt running down your chin. If only Mother and Daddy had made me stay home from the big game that night. But, no, they were too busy trying to learn the Watusi from our neighbor, Mrs. Reblox.

Over and over I've tried to warn my children about the pitfalls of the wild teenage years. And I have forbidden them to tattoo more that 30% of their body surface. "You ought to save some things until you're an adult," I say.

But they resent it when they are forbidden to enter head shops without a parent or guardian. And they go ballistic when "fat old people" win "cool stuff" like Corvettes. "Why should grown-ups get to do all the fun things when they're too old and pathetic to enjoy them?" As an old and pathetic adult, I get the point.

Anyway, it won't be long until they're on their own, when even the strongest handcuffs can't hold them. When I am no longer legally liable for any property damage or injuries they may cause. "Make me proud," I plead.

Destinee gets all starry-eyed when she talks about turning 18. "I can move out, get my own Victoria's Secret account, and start calling 1-900 numbers," she chirps.

"You'll graduate from high school," I say wistfully. "And be a fine young lady."

"And a porn star," she says with a little shimmy, "Or at least a topless dancer."

"Just think," I say, "You'll get to vote and have a voice in how our country is run."

"Then I can lie in bed all day and order things from Home Shopping like you do, Mom. And I can rent XXX movies like Dad, and take out a loan for a bigger bust like Aunt Susie. And steal shingles like Uncle Fred."

"And if you get into trouble, you'll go to TDC like Uncle Fred, not some cushy youth facility like Freddy, Jr.," I warn. "You're so hot to trot."

Which brings on a youthful crying jag--she's just a girl, after all. "Kids don't get to do anything, nowadays," she laments. "We try to be responsible but grown-ups just keep raising the bar. We can't get drunk. We can't even buy cigarettes and now they're trying to pass that stupid body-piercing law. It wasn't like that when you were young."

"We needed crutches in the 70's because the decade was such a bummer--really awful fashion-wise," I say. "But kids today have video games and e-mail. You have Spandex and VCRs. You don't need to get tattoos and drop acid or anything. Now look--I'm all upset. Get Mommy a beer, okay, Honey?"