BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

With the Bunch family it's always feast or famine. A couple of weeks ago we couldn't decide whether to go out to the racetrack or to the chili cook-off at Trader's Village. It ended up being the most exciting twenty-four hours in my life, with us driving six hours back and forth between Texas Motor Speedway and Grand Prairie, changing out of our matching checkerboard jumpsuits in the car, and mixing up a toilet bowl full of our prize winning chili in the bed of the pickup truck along the way. What more could you ask for? Big name celebrities at both places. And more pork rinds and corny dogs than you could shake a stick at.

It's back to famine now. Sonny's brother and his family from Amarillo have been staying with us since their drive shaft broke on the way to Six Flags. It's been five days of pure hell with no TV--which they don't believe in. Their baby Hezekiah keeps torturing the ferret and my sister-in-law acts like I'm a wanton hussy whenever I go down to the bingo hall to keep from losing my mind.

There's no big press for them to get back home, as the kids are home-schooled, and Sonny's brother Reuben is a self-employed textbook consultant. We're just one big happy family with grits and gruel and sing-alongs. And my washed-out sister-in-law Faye who needs a makeover worse than any sad sack they've ever had on Oprah.

Which reminds me of the big race. I'll tell you one thing. There were a lot of folks who could use a good scrubbing. I know there was mud, but that's no excuse. Gold chains and Hawaiian print shirts don't make up for brown teeth and chin stubble. And as for those women in tube tops, maybe they ought to buy some extra tubes for their spare tires.

Don't get me wrong. I LOVED being there. It reminded me of church camp with everybody so sweaty and enthusiastic. I'm sure it will be even better next time.

Speaking of the race, who made money off it? Nobody in Axel, that's for sure. Clients couldn't even get to the beauty shop, traffic was so backed up, and Tiny Dunlap only sold two doughnuts at her place. Sheriff Tubbs was hoping to fill the jail with DWI's but apparently everybody was scared off beer, with no place to relieve themselves between here and Ardmore.

We're trying to figure out a way to cash in on this deal. Sonny's thinking about putting a pay toilet in the front yard, or maybe renting out tents. (My ex-boss had to stay at a place called Krystal's XXX Motel on Highway 6.) There's all kinds of stuff you could sell along the road, from puppets to pineapples, like those vendors in Matamoros. Soda pop would be great, especially if people knew they could go to the bathroom at some point. We could even put the girls to work wiping off people's windshields.

I guess I better go. I've got to churn butter with Faye now.

Sonny's home waiting for the air quality experts to figure out what's stinking up the plant. It smells like it always did, if you ask me, but Monday the secretary hyperventilated and they had to send everybody home.

It's impossible to get anything done with him underfoot--as bad as when he had his vasectomy. So I told Sonny to get to work on that pay toilet. Then if we get rid of his brother before the next race, it will be happy days again.