Pensee's at the Salon

1.                      

If  the Venus of Willendorf Is Packin’

I went to a Drop In’s Welcome salon in Reno the other day and the gal doing hair had some kinda figure and some kinda attitude.  Built like the Venus of Willendorf.  Go to Wiki.  You’ll get the picture. This earth mother had a captive audience.  Over the noise of the blow dryers she told us about going to the Bank of America with a handgun in the pocket of her jacket. “I f’n’ forgot!” she yelled.  She named the caliber, cocked her finger at the mirror, and said, “Smaller than a squirt gun!” When I went to pay,  I said, “Pardon me for asking but why a conceal ‘n carry?”  She squinted, “There's a lotta crazies out there and I know who they are.” I squinted back and said, “So do I. '' She said, “Maybe you should be packin’.” I thought about it for a minute, with my dead husband and all.  Maybe I should have a gun in my purse.   I decided it wouldn’t make me feel better, probably worse.

                                                                          2.

                                                               Schadenfreude

Tess fit me in yesterday for cut and color.   When she asked what I did on the weekend and I said, “Not much,” she told me about going to her mom’s, and when she remembered to ask, “How’s your husband,” and I said, “ Cancer’s back but I’m not telling him ‘cause it’ll  bum him out even worse,”  Tess said--Tess is quite the philosopher--she said,  “There’s always so many people worse off than us.” When I said, “Yeah, but that  doesn’t make me feel a goddam bit better,” she said, “This friend of  my mom’s, he’s an old guy and he has glaucoma and he lives by himself and he cut his finger pretty bad cutting onions or something.  He got out the Super Glue for his cut, but he confused the Super Glue for his eye medicine and Super Glued both eyes shut.”  I’m thinking well, that’s a stupid sonofabitch.  But since the old guy’s a friend of Tess’s mom, I said, “Oh, that’s awful.” Truth be told, the story cheered me up.

                                            3.

                                       Let Them Eat Horses

I’m here to tell you grief is temporary insanity.  Be prepared to do stupid things.  Bless her heart, Michelle, who does my gel nails, wants me to get together with this group of women. What do they have in common? Dead husbands.  Thanks but no thanks. I don’t want to eat salads and talk about dead husbands.  When I get backed into social situations like that, what do I do? Pitch equine slaughterhouses. Promote glue factories.  That calls a halt to the pity party.