BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

Can it come as any surprise to the president that Monica Lewinsky is being offered big bucks for a tell-all book? The New Yorker reports that HarperCollins <qc> has offered $2 million. There's a tv movie in the works. And every kid on the block wants a Monica Lewinsky beanie babe. Did Clinton really think the trysts would remain their little secret?

At the gym the other day people of every age and fitness level were talking about the scandal--using words you have to look up in the dictionary.

"We already know way too many details," said one woman. "Where will it end? And what's with the cigar?"

"The president seems so gross now," said the teenager at the desk. "Like the time I saw my dad in his underwear. I wish he would just go away. Not Dad. The president."

"I'd rather have Hugh Hefner. A man who admits he's a playboy is better than a playboy in Baptist's clothing," said a grandmother.

I'm with Yeltsin. Bring back the old guy--Jimmy Carter. At least he only lusted in his heart.

Everybody from Linda Tripp to Tipper Gore stands to make millions by spilling the beans. The president must be quaking in his boots. I know how he feels. My daughter's autobiography, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young White Trash Girl, is scheduled to hit the shelves next month.

Every mother dreads the day her child publishes a daring expose'. The day she bares her soul (and your derriere) to the world. You made her wear granny panties while you wore lacy thongs. You stole her boyfriend when she was twelve. You dressed her up as Tammy Faye Bakker <qc> for Halloween when she wanted to be Strawberry Shortcake.

She gripes about how she called 911 for a joke and when the police arrived, they thought your house had been ransacked--but that's the way it always looked. How she secretly despised mother-daughter beauty pageants. How you "forced" her to get her ears pinned back.

If the book jacket is any indication, it's going to turn this town upside down, the way Peyton Place did in the 50's.

"Living in the Bunch house was like being in a cult. We mostly dined on peanut butter and the tv was always broke . . . . Mama made fun of mine and Destinee's idols--Puff Daddy, Jerry Springer and the Spice Girls--but Mom had pictures of Randy Macho Man Savage on every wall in the house . . . . Whenever Mother bought ice cream we got so excited but by the time we got home from school it was totally gone. . . ."

After all you've done for her--spending your last dollar on Pampers when you were out of beer--this is the thanks you get.

There's a collection of Bunch family photos--Grandpa's mug shot, me climbing out of the septic tank and the picture taken when Sonny's soda pop truck rolled over a gas pump and blew up half the town. There are charts and graphs with the IQ's, shoe sizes and weights of every living relative. With some, such as Aunt LaVinda whose cell is next to Darlie Routier's <qc> (and who is rumored to have lost 125 pounds) it's sheer conjecture but that didn't stop Stormy.

A child's switchblade is like a serpent's tooth. She didn't even tell how I sold blood to pay for clogging lessons so we could perform together in the Goat Head Mall Talent Show. I was so anemic I collapsed halfway through "Achy Breaky Heart" but we still won second place.

I guess I'll have to move out of town. Once everybody reads a tell-all expose', people forget about your good looks, charm and healthy effect on the economy. They begin to doubt you ever loved your spouse, dog or mama and your life is pretty much ruined.

In spite of terrorist bombings, the stock market and North Korean missiles, I imagine the president is contemplating that right now.