BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

The late Paul Erdos used to say death begins at 40. As a mathematician, he would know. Not that I'm forty, or anywhere near it. Let's just say my coordinates are x and y, where y equals the sum of all prime integers.

Getting older's not so bad. Take John Glenn, for example. His recent adventure aboard a guided missile was an inspiration to a generation of oldsters. They figure, if Glenn can blast off like Buck Rogers, what's to keep the rest of us at the Bingo parlor? And why should young dudes get all the chicks?

Consequently, Ozzy Osbourne and the guys from Black Sabbath are back on tour. My dad, who has been off the wrestling circuit for five years, will face Thing One and Thing Two in a Texas Death Match on New Year's Eve. And Earlene Whitehead, who celebrated her 75th birthday in July, is training to compete in street luge at the next X-Games.

I hoped the news would encourage my friend, Raquel Detroit, who has been down in the dumps. She quit waxing her moustache. She gave away her rhinestone-studded thong panties. (Thanks, Raquel, they fit great.) And she packed up all her Spandex and started wearing a dingy yellow sweatsuit with avocado stains.

I hardly recognized her when she showed up at bowling. "What on earth is the matter with you?" I said.

"I'm lower than a skunk now that 50 is considered old age," said Raquel, who turned 50 last month. She pulled out an ad for Harris Hospital's "Forward From Fifty" seminar--"a health fair designed especially for women and men over age 50." Keynote speaker Art Linkletter was slated to give a talk entitled "Old Age is not for Sissies."

"What are you worried about?" I said. "You're not a sissy."

"I thought old age didn't start till you were at least 55," she huffed, out of breath from tying her bowling shoes.

"So what if you're old? I've always felt that age confers wisdom, at least about things like who's performing in Branson. And, as for physical stamina, even somebody as young as I am can have trouble performing the Valsalva maneuver or climbing into a monster truck."

"You have no idea what old age is like. Has anyone ever mailed you one of these?"

A box labeled Complementary Adult Diapers landed in my lap. I carefully examined the contents. "Don't take it personally," I said. "Anyone would need a diaper if she fell in a hole looking for her car keys like you did last week. And anyone could misplace her glasses, especially if her hair was teased into a large, eye-catching style like yours. Besides," I continued, "I think June Allyson is very beautiful. More beautiful than, say, Sporty Spice. Sporty Spice probably doesn't even know what hormone replacement therapy is."

"You know I never liked June Allyson." A tear appeared in the corner of her wizened eye. "The last straw was receiving this. Prune Eater Journal," she whispered. Then she collapsed.

Prune Eater! The words stung like fire ants. I felt my blood pressure rise as if I were the one who was 50 years old. Our team--the Pink Rollers--stretched Raquel out on the cracked blue vinyl of a bowling alley bench.

"It's mostly ads for Lawrence Welk videos," she murmured when she came to."The ID Card gets you discounts. Not that I'll be buying much."

I flipped through the journal, trying to think of a way to cheer her up. "Gee, I could use a discount on bulk fiber. I can't wait to be old like you."

"Really?" said Raquel, brightening a little.

"No fooling." I returned my rental shoes to Bill, the elderly 53 year old who owns the bowling alley. It was depressing just to look at him.

"Hey, I've got an idea," said Raquel. "We could go to the health fair together. Want me to pick you up?"

I bolted for the exit. "Sounds great. Tell you what," I yelled. "I'll meet you there."

The last glimpse I caught of her, Raquel was smiling. Yeah, right. Like I would be caught dead at some deal for old people.