BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

Air quality in Axel is getting worse and worse. And that's not counting the air inside my house. Some days I think I'll choke on all the hair spray and dust bunnies and roach killer. Thank goodness for the humble dust mask.

A dust mask is the perfect solution for many problems. Husband stinks? Dust mask! Cat flaking? Dust mask! Anthrax attack? Dust mask!!!

That's why I wear mine 24 hours a day. I recently returned from a vacation where I luxuriated--maskless--in a pristine room at Motel #9. Clean sheets, adult movies, no fur balls. When I got home, the minute I stepped over my threshold, I was assaulted by a thousand different microorganisms. I felt them wriggling up my nostrils.

Sensing danger, I immediately donned my trusty mask. I'm convinced it saved my life. Other family members--who scoffed at my offer to lend them one from my vast stockpile--inhaled the toxic spores of household filth and have the itchy throats and vacant stares to prove it. I alone continue to bask in fair to middling health.

Some people find it puzzling when you wear a mask. "Are you refinishing the floors?" they ask. Then there's all that explaining to do through your dust mask. You mention spores, microorganisms, floating cat fur. They act like you're crazy. Which wouldn't really matter except the rubber band cuts across the poofiest part of your hair and no one can see your shiny straight teeth. You're not looking your cutest--but at least you're not breathing who-knows-what.

I wear a mask every time a truck goes by and when I pass the city dump. I wear one in a rain storm and when an asteroid crosses through the earth's orbit. I especially wear one in the shoe department at Lurlene's House of Style and when I'm cleaning out the cat box.

There's a historical precedent. Why do you think cowboys wore them in the old B-Westerns? Who wants to inhale the B.O. of a fellow wrangler? Or sniff the behind of a passing bovine--one of today's leading causes of air pollution. Even back then they knew about ragweed and cedar pollen and dust mites. Although theirs were not the surgeon-type masks we have today, cowboys knew what they were doing with their neckerchiefs. Protecting their noses in this way led to their reputation as hardy men.

Unfortunately, dust masks are not as glamorous as bandanas. Ask any gang member. That's why I've started painting pictures on mine. The noses of cute animals such as bears and mice. The snout of a pig. The bill of a platypus. People seem to like it best when I attempt to create an exact replica of my own profile. The striking nose. The kissable lips. In a pretty frock, I'm sure to attract lots of attention.

Perhaps efforts such as these will speed the public's acceptance of the dust mask in everyday life. And none too soon.

Someday everybody will be wearing dust masks. Sure, you could put a clothespin on your nose. Or stretch a pair of pantyhose over your face. Or you could clean your house once in a while. But why go to all the trouble when, for a couple of bucks, you can breathe like there's no tomorrow?