BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

Last week, along with millions of other Americans, I vowed to begin a new exercise program. In my case--marching in place every time I brush my teeth. With spring break just around the corner, I hoped it wasn't too little too late.

"Maybe you should see a plastic surgeon," said my best friend Brandi, who has been living on bullion cubes since her divorce. "What about that guy whose picture is always in the paper?"

"The one who looks like an anteater?"

"Yes, he did my sister-in-law's tattoo removal but it cost a pretty penny." Brandi wears a size 4, even though she's over six feet tall. Lucky for her, she had cosmetic procedures done on 95% of her body before walking in on her cardiologist husband and his 19 year old receptionist. She couldn't even pay for a nose job on the money she makes selling socks at Trader's Village.

"I've heard there are plastic surgeons who fly to other countries and operate on poor children for free," I said. "Maybe one of them would take pity on me when he finds out I can't even zip my Easter dress."

"Maybe that anteater guy needs a 'before' picture to run with his ad," said Brandi. "A picture of your stomach would probably bring in a lot of business. People will wonder whether it's a human or a close-up of a garden slug."

"I couldn't stand having my picture in the paper," I said, remembering Brandi's recent centerfold, for which she was paid $75. "Even if people mistook me for a slug, it wouldn't be worth it." I crawled under the bed and counted the pennies in my secret sock. "I have some money now that the bingo hall closed down. What if I offered that anteater guy $3.00 a month for the next twenty years?"

"That's only $720," said Brandi, working a calculator with the eraser end of a pencil. "He wouldn't suck out one centimeter of fat for that. Believe me, $720 wouldn't make a dent in your blubber."

It's terrible having a best friend with a fast metabolism. Brandi's mother told me there's something wrong with Brandi's intestines but sometimes I hate her guts. "At least my husband's still around," I said.

"As if anybody else would want Sonny." Brandi smoothed the Spandex over her hip bone. "Anyway, I thought you wanted my advice."

"Some advice. Like when you convinced me I looked darling in that tube top? Or the time we went out with those identical twins and you took the one with the normal-sized head? Or the thong bikini you made me buy last summer?"

"Maybe you and I aren't compatible," said Brandi. "There are different kinds of best friends. Maybe I'm not your type."

"Maybe you're right. I'll get a new best friend," I said. "Someone not like you." When we're walking down the street, everyone will look at me and think, "That is the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on," instead of looking at Brandi and thinking, "There must be something wrong with her intestines. And look how fat her friend is."