BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

Tomorrow morning, bright and early, I'll be standing on the corner with a sign that says "Will Work for Love."

My bags are packed--the matching set of gold El Tourista luggage Mama and Daddy gave me for graduation. It's the first time I've used the 7-suiter wardrobe.

The cats, Lanc(o^)me and L'or(e)al (my only friends) are waiting in the car in their matching Space Cat pet carriers. I packed the rags they like to suck on, along with enough clumping cat litter to last a month if you're not too particular.

In a month this should be over.

I've got my Tammy Wynette cassette, my electric rollers, and $30. My blood pressure pills. And my talking Stimpy doll.

I'm heading for the Sunset Inn, the heart-break motel where any wife in Axel who catches her sister kissing her husband on the lips on the back porch during the Cowboy game is likely to wind up. It's my third year in a row. Al's holding my room. Number 0.

Peace and quiet is what I need. And cable TV. And a 2 lb. bag of chocolate sandwich cookies. And the box of tissues Al puts on the bathroom vanity in every room.

And a different sister. One who loans you cocktail dresses and touches up your roots. One who finds her own damn men.

If I had bought the red push-up bra at Victoria's Secret, maybe this Thanksgiving would have been different. If I had exercised the whole 15 minutes every day instead of stopping for a mid-morning snack after the leg lifts. If I had gotten that tooth pulled.

If . . . if . . . if . . . .

Tonight I'll fill the bathtub. It will be storming outside. I'll ignore my mother's advice against bathing when it's raining. Who cares? I would gladly be electrocuted a thousand times if it would spare one sappy, love-sick woman the kind of life I've had.

At least I'll be clean.

I hope they're satisfied.

I wish now I had bought the Deluxe Ocean Breeze scented cat litter. But I thought Sonny would be proud if I saved a nickel here and there, not throwing money away on fishnet hose and garter belts like my sister who takes after our great-great-great grandmother. The one who gave fever blisters to half of the troops at Valley Forge.

Once again the liar claimed she mistook Sonny for her husband Floyd, even though you could fit two of Sonny in Floyd's overalls. Once again she acted shocked and started spitting when I turned on the porch light and exposed them pawing each other like those monkeys that mate several times a day.

"I was afraid to try and stop her," Sonny said. "She might have done something drastic--think how you'd feel then."

I can't imagine.

I'm just glad my sister showed her true colors before and I went out and bought the microwave potato chip maker she wanted for Christmas. I hear they don't work too well.

Neither does Sonny, for that matter.