BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

I'm wearing this elf disguise cause I'm on the lam. I figured I'd be in the slammer for Christmas but who would dream it would take the cops so long to book me into the county jail? Started War and Peace while I was waiting and was on the next to the last page when I decided to make a break for it. Easy as pie. I get on the bus with all these other people and next thing I know I'm at this big church downtown.

Cup of Fur, Dirt Clod, Old Shoe.

Maybe I deserved to be sent to some place like Sing Sing for poisoning my sister with the Thanksgiving turkey. But you know how it is--I didn't want to miss all the holiday festivities. My son Jasper's performance in The Nutcracker, the entertainment event of a lifetime here in Axel. Not to mention Fifi Ledbetter's Christmas Cookie Exchange and Bobbing for Bratwurst at Goat Head Mall. Plus, I hadn't finished the story I was writing for the Axel Rattler--"25 Gifts Under 50 Cents."

Eyelash, Paper Clip, Lint.

Frankly, I haven't had time to even think about shopping, with all my beauty shop appointments and the meetings with my lawyer. This time of year there are parties galore and the last place a cosmetologist needs to be is in the pokey. Besides, seeing Darlie Routier on tv makes me suspect they don't let you bleach your hair in jail.

Hunk of Styrofoam, Fleas, Sock, Picture of Some Old Guy.

Anyway, my attorney says we can call it self-defense. After all, my sister did take a swing at me in front of several dozen people at the liquor store when I nabbed the last pint of cherry sloe gin.

Can I help it if she drives me nuts? Like a yapping poodle--always jumping on your pantyhose. If most poodles cost $250, she would be the kind that costs $25 because you suspect the father was a pit bull.

Dead Roach, Plastic Bag, Piece of Gum.

She's all hyper and yapping and annoying, whereas I'm as peaceful as a three-toed sloth, content to hang around upside-down all day long. Wishing everybody would just give me a break. The placid cow in a field of grackles.

Even a cow has a breaking point. The point when she turns into a rampaging carnivore, biting the hand that feeds her. In this case, my beehive customer, Fifi Ledbetter, Axel's leading socialite. Midway through her bleach job, she decides to go brunette, as a tribute to Elvis.

"You could be the blond Elvis," I suggest. "Nobody's ever thought of that."

Rubber Band, Pine Cone, Fingernail.

"You know I vote Republican," she replied, which is what she always says when taking a conservative position. So brunette it was, which tied me up past time for Jasper's Nutcracker rehearsal, after Miss Betty had already threatened to let somebody else play the main rat. Then, to top it all, Fifi doesn't invite me to her Christmas cookie exchange. So I slip her a few head lice when she's not looking.

Beer Bottle, Paper Towel, Stick.

I hope you never have to find out what it's like to go home to a house full of hysterical people. The ex-rat's crying his eyes out. Your husband can't find his bowling shoes. And your teenage daughters are duking it out over the last Ding Dong.

Next to that, jail looks like a piece of cake.

Raisin, Run-over Toothbrush, Ice Cube.

Maybe it would do me good to get away. I could see how War and Peace turns out. Anyway, my roots could probably use a rest.

Potato Chip, String, Dad's Undershirt.

Is that 25? Sheriff, you can come and get me.