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Reflections October 2012

Agelessly Yours

Bathing Caps Have More Body

By Karen White-Walker

It’s surprising that she can hit all the crevices in such short a time because those lines take years and years in the making, right, girls?  On men they’re considered attractive, on women they’re symbols of strife and stress because of living with a man.  I warned you men not to read this.

All right, men, if you’re smart (and most of you probably are), don’t bother reading this little write-up, unless of course, you’re into facials, pedicures and arched eyebrows, and all that “girlie stuff.” Actually I think a real man is comfortable with his own masculinity, or lack of it, when he is secure enough to be seen exiting a beauty salon blowing his fingernails. If there’s one thing that’s a true turn-off to real women, it’s grubby filthy fingernails that look like you can plant a garden under them.

If not for my 81-year-old neighbor, Rosie, I would never have known that certain school programs offer salon specials to walk-ins, everyday ordinary folks like myself. It costs pennies, but I always tip the teenagers in training. Some show a real flair for hair cutting and styling, while others can’t hold a comb and scissors together in their one hand. It’s not that they can’t, they seem to be unmotivated. I always ask for the pros — the ones who have been cutting for at least two weeks. But really it’s the facials that one can become addicted to. For one full hour the girl traces every line in your face with a delicious smelling almond massage mixture.

It’s surprising that she can hit all the crevices in such short a time because those lines take years and years in the making, right, girls? On men they’re considered attractive, on women they’re symbols of strife and stress because of living with a man. I warned you men not to read this.

“Don’t forget to do my neck,” I remind the trainees. For this I pay her a little extra, work hazard pay, because the poor thing is treading into scary territory. I can’t even look at my neck, let alone touch it!

While one girl is working on the north side of me, from the shoulders up, another is down south at my feet, pushing cuticles back, messaging arthritic toes, muscular calves, and finishing it all off with polishing my toenails.

“Please don’t make me look too sexy,” I beg them, “I don’t want to kill my husband.” Of course they’re not listening to me because they all look like they’re on some real mission — mission impossible, that is. Sometimes the girls-in-training have reason to start doubting their abilities as “miracle workers” because sometimes the patrons end up looking uglier than when we first shuffled in there. Forget about us looking like natural beauties; we’re more like natural disasters! What may lead to these calamities is when we bring in breakfast treats for the girls.

One look at those chocolate donuts oozing with cream and those students completely forget that we exist. Never mind that they’ve plastered our hair with cholesterol cream and then encased our heads with one of those high voltage heating caps to activate the cream’s ingredients. You know what happens when the realization hits them that pastries have more precedence over patrons? They sprint across the room screaming, “Oh my God! That cap should have been removed an hour ago!”

They dump about of gallon of shampoo on your hair and it doesn’t produce any suds. It’s a terrible feeling to feel helpless and hopeless, and a worse feeling to squint into the mirror.

“I’ve seen more body on a bathing cap,” I’ve cried.

“Buy one!” is the beauty tip for the day.

Guess I’m not a quick study because I keep going back for their salon specials. But when they start doing facelifts I’m out of there!

 

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