It is one whole week of post-hairpocalypse. An itinerant stylist, Joy, came to the house two days after the 'episode' and set things to rights. I wish I'd had a camera to capture the look on her face when she took in the scope of what I'd done to my mother. Oh, the colours her face turned and the contortions it went through trying to suppress her inner jocular upheaval. Joy, it turns out, is related to us by a couple of removes. She is very personable and does good work. She caters exclusively to 'ladies of a certain age' and whose situations prevent them from going to salons. My mother was more than agreeable to becoming a regular client. Especially after she found out that many of her acquaintances are also clients and Joy has no difficulty with sharing 'items of interest'. I was so relieved they hit it off I sprung for a manicure and pedicure to expiate my stylistic faux-pas.
However, I'm beginning to feel that the 5th Commandment has long-term ramifications that reveal themselves in the oddest ways and in the strangest places. I do not have a copy of the Torah so I can't look up any disclaimers, S.O.P.'s, addenda or amendments to "Thou shalt honour thy mother and father". You know, like, "If a son causes his mother's head to resemble an unshorn sheep (or Angela Davis), it is an abomination and he will be made to suffer".
It's gotta be in there because I have had the strangest week revolving around me being me. Those of you who know me up-close and personally will recall that I cannot wear a wristwatch--either quartz or the wind-up kind. There is something about my person that turns their innards into mush. That is why I carry a pocket watch. I have been told by people given to New Age leaning that I have an amazing aura. I have been told by still other weird-science folk that I am a walking electro-magnetic field. That makes me a transient Bermuda Triangle. Oh, joy, Oh rapture. Well, whatever the hell it is, I'm just about over it.
I set off metal detectors from three feet away. If someone in a crowd comes within 6 inches of me during dry weather you can literally see the static electricity arc from my body to theirs. No one will shake hands or attempt to hug me these days. The cats are avoiding me like I was a Veterinarian. It reached a climax yesterday.
There is a terrific new store in the strip center where I do the grocery shopping. It's a cross between a flea market and an antiques shop. Tons of treasures and loads of junque. I've been there many times and the staff and I are on a first-name basis. As I walked about the very extensive floorspace the manager noticed that wherever I walked the fluorescent lighting dimmed and in several instances the ballasts completely failed and areas went dark. He came up to me and asked if I'd noticed this happening. Was I doing it on purpose. Does this happen often. I gave him a briefer explanation than the one above and he said he was very sorry but he was going to have to ask me to leave. I went to the checkout and paid for my selections--under the speculative eyes of staff and customers who'd also apparently witnessed the phenomena. On my way out of the store I popped my head into the manager's office to apologize for something I couldn't help but felt bad about. No sooner had I stuck my head in the door his computer crashed! He couldn't reboot. He just looked at me and very evenly said "Please....go.....away. I did. All the way home the 'check engine' light kept going on and off. I hadn't been on line for several days because I kept getting error screens saying newly added hardware wasn't installed properly. There's been nothing added to this computer in two years.
Enough already! I unwittingly turned my mothers coiffure into lambswool. I'm sorry, okay? I haven't experienced any woo-hoo stuff today. The computer's behaving itself better than it has for a while now. Perhaps I've finally escaped the cloak of anathema that has enveloped me since I removed the last roller a week ago. I think perhaps this has more to do with the pleasure I got out of the mishap. A distinct sense of satisfaction at obtaining retribution for the difficulties I endure at the hands of She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. My mom is a very dear woman who, on many occasions, turns into Momzilla for various and sundry reasons. Most of which are known only to her and cannot therefore be intimated to the uninitiated. Suffice it to say that happy cohabitation is often a challenge.
In any event, I will have to wait a while before returning to that particular 'fleatique' store. In the meantime I am going to enjoy the pristine matching pair of Meissen porcelain candleholders I purchased for $10.00. I collect porcelain and finding these flawless beauties was like the balm of Gilead on my fried nerves. The week wasn't a total loss--unless I somehow manage to cause spontaneous combustion.
Now there's an electrifying thought............