I was in a giant beauty salon. This is nothing unusual; I have beauty salon dreams often. Sometimes they are anxiety-producing (like the one where I was in a long hallway and there were lots of doors and I had to wait, not knowing who my stylist was - imagine the disappointment when my drab, blue-smocked woman came out, scissors in hand. I wouldn't let her anywhere near me.)
Anyway, back to last night. I was in a large complex, being moved from room to room with my cape on. As I stood in the doorway, I turned around to see a gigantic box of Clairol red hair coloring over the sink. Anyway, I went through the door and there were three men sitting in chairs: Felix in Hollywood and two others! I said, "Oh, don't let me disturb your little 'boy-party,'" but then I realized they were dabbing their eyes with tissues and I felt bad.
7 comments:
I can't speak for the other two, but I was weeping with joy at the beauty of you in you salon cape.
That and the pain being inflicted on me by the bitch that was doing the waxing.
The world needs a 1960s female Walter Mittylike character. Who's life is blah, blah, blah, but when she goes to the beauty parlor, and they put her cape on and stick her under that dryer, and the fumes start getting to her she has these wonderful out of body adventures.
In one, she is a super herione, marshalling her woman-troops in their capes to avenge the world and make it a more beautiful place. Then she goes home to her stark reality of Sear furniture and everything coated in Formica.
Then the next week under the drier she goes and she fantasizes that she has the power to make the gay hairdresser love her, which he does, but unable to have him, she points him back in the direction of men, his world a better place for what she has given him. Then she goes back to her husband with the gut and three screaming children.
On the third trip, under the dryer she goes again, and then a third fantasy pops up - she is sick of always going home to the same old same old, and she whips her family into shape. She goes home, loses it, and then destroys the house.
In the last shot was see her husband running down the street followed by a woman, with curlers in her haior weilding a meat Clever, credits fade to black. Fin.
meet clever sounds about right.
was that a clairol 8RG by any chance?
Cookie: it's nearly written! Go for it!
Felix, maybe it was my blue cape with the color on my head.
Radar: who are you? You are new. We like you. Note the royal "We."
Norma: It could have been. Let me check the color chart.
I justs love the term "boy-party". It's hilarious and one can say it with such venom. Or you can say it like a gay Homer Simpson..."mmmmm.... boy-party (drool)"
I wasn't being venomous. In fact, I felt like I walked into the "boys-only" room of the salon by accident!
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