Saturday, December 8, 2007

The Beauty Parlor.

Today I made my monthly trip to Flo's Hair Salon. Gosh I love that place. Flo, the owner, has the shop all dolled up with floral arrangements, wallpaper, and kitschy Victorian style mirrors. She said it cost her a fortune, but she wanted to revive the olden days of the beauty parlor.

Everytime I go for my silver blue rinse and curls, Flo always greets me and offers me some tea with scones while I wait for Gladys to do my hair. And the conversations there are never dull, children. For example:

Flo: You all ready for the holidays, hun?
Me: Yup, I've got the tree up, the stockings hung, and the booby traps set for the carolers.
Gladys: Well good Lord, honey, why would you do such a thing like that?
Me: Because none of them can ever sing on key. It's like listening to Roseanne Barr singing after she's had one too many wine spritzers.
Flo: Well do you have all your presents bought?
Me: Yes, I got all my children taken care of except my daughter Jeanie.
Gladys: How come? Is she hard to shop for?
Me: No. She's not getting anything except a card.
Flo: Now Madge why would you leave her out?
Me: Because she never calls and she never writes. The only time I hear from her is at Christmas when she mails me a tacky cheddar cheese nativity scene.
Gladys: What's so terrible about that?
Me: I'm Episcopalian, I can't spread a wise man over a Ritz cracker.

No comments:

A sassy, gassy, hip, old Braud from Kansas City cuts loose on the internet.