BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

The Spanish word for storm is tormento. When people around here think of torment, their minds naturally gravitate toward Mayfest '95. Some people call it The Day of the Triffids. Some people call it the day before the day the insurance adjusters came to town. Everybody remembers it as the day all hail broke loose in one terrific hell storm.

Like each of you, I suffered my own personal ordeal. Following the final performance of my belly dancing troupe, I was knocked silly by a five pound hail stone. Mistaking it for a confetti egg, I angrily whipped around and used my turkey leg to attack a group of innocent boys. Then I lost consciousness and almost drowned in a bowl of dog water but was rescued by a good Samaritan--a CPA named Arnold Strickner--who dragged me into a Port-a-Potty and administered CPR. Arnold and I took turns yelling for help as our Port-a-Potty began to buckle under the barrage of hail. Finally we were found by soldiers from the national guard armory.

My sister, who believes these are the End Times, predicts an especially hellacious storm season and has warned the family against outdoor activities. But I figure, if the world is going to end, why not go out in a blaze of glory with a funnel cake in one hand and a wine margarita in the other? That's why I will be appearing this weekend at Mayfest in a revival of the gorgeous Hootenanny Harem Girls of Axel, Texas.

The Hootenanny Harem Girls used to be soccer moms, sitting on the bleachers in our "Go Purple Poodles" t-shirts, dispensing granola bars and juice boxes from our "Go Purple Poodles" ice chest. One day while the Purple Poodles were getting massacred, I began to imagine what it would be like to have actual fun. Before I could stop the words, they slithered from my lips. "I wish I had a life."

"Hey, that's a thought," said Muffy Peterson. "Why shouldn't everybody be looking at us instead of the Purple Poodles? They can hardly dribble and chew gum at the same time."

"Coach Ed doesn't want the girls to chew gum," said Debbie Lamar. We were glad when Debbie agreed to stay on as Team Mom while the rest of us took up belly dancing.

We traded our soccer ball earrings for finger cymbals and veils. Then we hired Bambi Shostakovsky, an exotic dancer from Krystal's XXX, to teach us the ancient art of belly dancing. Before you could say unsportsmanlike behavior, we were performing at church picnics and PTA fund raisers.

Being invited to perform at Mayfest '95 was the biggest honor the Hootenanny Harem Girls ever received. It was also the most dangerous. Alma Prescott, the preacher's wife, was doing her very first solo--hypnotizing the audience with her sensuous undulations--when the storm hit. The first chunk of ice bonked her on the elbow. The next one broke her big toe. A lawyer in the third row snapped out of his hypnotic trance the minute he saw Alma was hurt. He offered to drive her to the hospital even though he was pretty sure she had been injured by an act of God.

The rest of the Hootenanny Harem Girls pushed to the front of the stage and attempted to take everyone's mind off the accident with some fast, exciting footwork. As we danced, it continued to rain and soon our costumes became transparent. They eventually shrank when we put them in the dryer at home.

The ones we'll be wearing at Mayfest are new and improved. See you there!