Dinner Should be Enjoyed Naked

by Michelle Charpentier

  “Welcome to Coffee Café, do you know what you are ordering today?” she would ask each person as they entered the shop. She would time their response and any hesitation would immediately lead you to the undecided line. If at some point you did make a firm decision, you could then move to the fast lane. On some days, the undecided line would stretch way out into the parking lot. People could just stay in their cars until they picked what to order so the parking lot did not become a road hazard.

  “What can I get you,” rings in my ears shaking me out of my fog. The young man behind the counter has the biggest smile ever seen especially this early in the morning.

  “A large mocha ice coffee, no sugar please.” Let’s see if he is as bright as his smile. Quite often, I have to repeat my order at least twice before I get my coffee. Two minutes later a large cup of chocolate brown coffee is set in front of me.

  “Anything else ma’am?” I am impressed. The coffee is perfect and he is still smiling. Handing the young man three dollars I tell him to keep the change. He has started my day off on the right foot now let’s see who is going to ruin it.

  10:30 am

  Coffee cup in hand I pull the car into a parking spot at the mall to try again to find the perfect haircut. I hope that it is too early for the mall to be crammed with people. Saturdays aren’t the best days to be here. For some strange reason mothers decide on Saturday everyone wants to experience their children. The strollers are everywhere blocking the aisles. Screaming children are running in and out of the racks. Sometimes the mall feels like one big romper room. I like kids; I have three of my own. Mine did not run the mall screaming like a bunch of banshees. If the boys accompanied me shopping, they kept their hands to themselves with a minimum of jumping around. They are boys so physicality is inevitable but it does not have to lead to rampant disobedience.

  The first objective is to get in the part of the mall not occupied by strollers. I applaud malls that ban teenagers from crossing their thresholds after school unless accompanied by a parent or guardian. The same sort of program is feasible for babies. Obviously, they can’t come to the mall without their parents; however, there could be a black out time that restricts babies from the mall. As cute as they are, babies don’t have money to spend so the mall wouldn’t lose revenue. People like me who have money probably would spend more time in the mall. More time in the mall is more time to drain our bank accounts. I wonder if the mall has a suggestion box.

  Scanning the parking lot, I see three strollers off in the distance. Damn, I wonder what direction they are going in. I wait just inside the mall entrance until the women enter and make a directional decision. The entourage goes right so I head left. With any luck, there is a salon on this side of the mall. There definitely is food on this side. The smell of cinnamon drifts through the air like a bullet to my nostril. What a wonderful comforting smell. I find myself drifting in the direction of that delicious aroma. Five minutes later, I’m sitting at a table ready to devour the biggest coffee cake muffin I have ever seen. My mouth waters from just looking at the baked goodness. Breaking a piece off the top, I pop the buttery, crispy, crust into my mouth. Savoring the explosion of flavors, I sigh with contentment. Gobbling up the rest of the muffin, I lick the last moist pieces sticking to my fingers. I feel much better now that not even the two year old throwing his breakfast on the floor is bothering me. However, I have become distracted from my mission. I have been at the mall thirty minutes and still no salon. I had better get moving before all the appointments are booked.

  Pushing myself away from the table, I clean up the crumbs and dump them into the trash. Continuing down the aisle, I see the neon sign of a salon ahead. I hope that I can get in and out with too much hassle. Reaching the receptionist desk, I shake my head in disbelief. Raccoon girl must have a sister. Maybe wearing awful makeup is a class these girls have to take in receptionists’ school. I bet the teachers spend an entire day teaching the makeup naïve girls how to turn themselves into forest creatures. Some girls have doe eyes, which are sexy; raccoon eyes on the other hand are creepy. I hope these girls make lots of money because I’m positive all that liner must be expensive. One good sign however is the lack of customers at the

  salon. I should be able to get in and out without too much trouble.

  “Hello,” I say to raccoon girl two. “I would like a shampoo and cut please.” No response from her, jeeze color me surprised. “Excuse me, I would like an appointment for a shampoo and cut.” Still no response and now I see why. Those dastardly ear buds. RCG2 is smarter than most. She has the wires hanging down her back making the ear buds less noticeable. Here I thought she was just ignoring me, instead of being incompetent. That makes all the difference in my attitude. Reaching toward the calendar sitting on the desk I slap my hand down in front of her making RCG2 jump out of her seat. During the jump one ear bud falls from her ear so she can clearly hear me ask again “if you don’t mind I would like a shampoo and cut please.”

  Scanning the ledger in front of her, she finds an empty space, follows the column upward to the time, and announces there is an opening in fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes she says. There is no one in any of the chairs, the stylists are chatting over coffee, yet I have to wait fifteen minutes before a chair becomes available. No sense dragging this out any longer than I have too so I agree to the time frame before taking a seat. I enjoy a good power struggle but I want today to be as peaceful as possible. The sense of calm and relaxation started by the nice young man at the coffee shop is still upon me. I will do my best to keep those feelings alive.

  I want the perfect cut so my hair matches my dress tonight. I need the entire package to look stunning so this is not a first and last date. Twenty minutes later, the stylist leads the way to the shampoo chair. I truly believe there is a law on the books that states no one can legally have an appointment that starts on time. I had one doctor who never made you wait. If your appointment was at ten o’clock, you would be ushered into the exam room at ten o’clock. The doctor would enter a few minutes later. The stress level was non-existent yet the quality of care was exceptional. Somehow, word of his competence got around and upset the rest of the appointment takers because it was not long before he retired to another state. Coincidence, I think not.

  Lounging in the chair, the warm water flows through my hair drenching each strand. If I were wealthy, I would have a personal hairdresser on call 24/7. Having someone wash your hair is one of the most decadent experiences you can have for less than twenty bucks. A good shampooer not only cleans your hair but also gives your scalp a great massage. All you should feel are the fingertips not the nails. You should be able to feel the fleshy pads move your scalp in a circular motion gently manipulating the scalp. Couple that with the soapy warm water and you have instant stress relief. I don’t think shampooers get enough credit for what they contribute to the building of peace in society. We could create an entire division of peacemakers based on giving shampoos. Who could argue for starting a war after having their scalp massaged? I know it is sexist but just to make sure peace wins let's have beautiful people giving the shampoos. At least, the women should have large breasts as an added diversion. No man would be able to resist signing a peace agreement under those circumstances. Of course, if there are women diplomats involved there must be male shampooers that resemble Greek gods. They all should have accents too. Accents are very sexy and would be the third prong of the peace attack. I should submit that idea to Washington. Who knows, the President might see the merit in the plan.

  In the distance, I hear the water shut off which snaps my mind back to reality. My hair is clean, now I have to decide what to do with it. Walking over to the salon chair, I still have no clue what I want done. I hope that the stylist will have some good suggestions. Looking into the mirror as she approaches doubts start to creep into my mind. Your haircut should represent your sense of style especially if you are paid to make other people feel good about themselves. Stylist really should not h
ave what I consider wacked out hair dos. Reading her name tag gives a clue to why she styled her hair that way. I can only assume Jellio is her stage name. I cannot imagine looking down at a newborn and deciding she looks like a Jellio. What does a Jellio look like anyways? My mind thinks of translucent multi colored skin that wiggles every time it moves. Imagine holding a baby with skin like that. She could easily slip out of your hands anytime she moved. You would need spring loaded floors with lots of padding to ensure she did not get hurt when she landed. Let’s pretend her name is Martha, which does not have enough pizzazz for this job, and she changed it to Jellio to make a statement. Someone named Martha would never tease her hair in that configuration on purpose. When I see a woman with her hair spiked in all directions, I hesitate to follow her fashion direction. There must be enough hair spray in there to hold up a building. Her hair is so stiff it would stop a bullet. That is definitely a hairdo fitting a super hero but not for a Saturday night date. I wonder if it is too late to request someone else.

  “Good morning, what are we going to do with you today?” Jellio asks between gum snaps. Between the weird haircut and chewing gum, I would not be surprised if she had two left thumbs. I’m not feeling confident in Jellio’s ability. Hoping to get out of this chair with most of my hair intact, I decide to take control of this situation right from the start.

  “I need a nice easy to take care of haircut. The cut has to be low maintenance. Wash, dry, and go is all I have time for. What do you have in mind?”

  “Well, I can take a little off the top here, move this over here, back this up here and you will be all set. See, you can do this yourself in only twenty minutes.” Looking in the mirror it takes all I have not to burst out laughing. The right side of my hair is swept up into a wave over my ear. The other side knotted just behind the left ear. Bangs hanging in my eyes along with a strip of loose hair hanging down my back complete the look. While I do admire Jellio’s ability to use styling products creatively, I cannot imagine paying someone to make me look like a clown. I give her credit for keeping a straight face. Instead of styling hair, she should be a politician. Anyone who can make someone look this bad yet convince him or her otherwise can probably be president someday.

  Lucky for me today is not that day. Shaking my head from side to side emphatically I tell her “no this won’t work at all. Again, I need something simple that will take less than five minutes to set. The only styling tools I use are a brush and hair dryer nothing else. Please try again and keep it simple.”

  Rolling her eyes Jellio unknots the hair before using her water bottle to rewet the snarled locks. If she rolls them any farther back she really will have eyes in the back of her head. At this point, I will be the first in line to smack her hard enough to move them back into their sockets. She would be wise to have earplugs in so any remaining marbles would not roll out onto the floor. It would be my luck I would slip on one of the marbles, break my ass and find out the salon was uninsured. Wouldn’t that make for a fantastic date? I might look stunning in my new outfit but I would have to walk to the restaurant and eat standing up. I’m sure you can’t sit down with a broken ass. Sex would surely be out of the question making for a miserable evening. Closing my eyes, I slowly slip my hands underneath my upper thighs to hold them steady in case the urge to lash out overcomes me.

  “So what’s the special occasion,” she asks trying to strike up a conversation.

  “I’m going on a first date tonight,” I really don’t want to chitchat but I will to keep the peacefulness of this day flowing.

  “Have you two been out before?” Great she either isn’t listening or can’t comprehend simple English.

  “No, this is our first date.”

  “Where did you go when you went out the first time?” Wow, she really isn’t getting this conversation.

  “We went to Disneyland on the space shuttle,” I reply with a straight face. “We had dinner on a pirate ship and watched fireworks in Alaska.”

  “Oh that sounds nice. I dated a guy who had a boat. I’ve never been to Alaska though. Is that part of the United States?” It was as if she had a stroke and just spewed words out of her mouth. I hope she pays more attention to my hair than she is to this conversation.

  “Yeah, we had strawberry pizza with green pea ice cream. The sun stayed out all night so we could ride all the rides before jetting home.” If she doesn’t know that I’m kidding this time, I will be very afraid.

  “I’ve never heard of green pea ice cream, what’s it taste like? I only eat vanilla. Actually, I only eat white food. My Guru says it keeps your aura clean.” I peak at her face out of one eye to see if she has any hint of a smirk on her lips. She must be yanking my chain.

  “It tastes like chicken which could be considered white food, so you should try it.”

  “Thanks for the tip, I think I will.” Now I’m really starting to regret sitting in this chair. I’d better keep a close eye on my hair. This girl is not all here.

  I feel the warm rod close to my scalp as a lock of hair wraps tightly around its shaft. I see curls. I may be too old for curls but let’s give her a chance my mind says. One curl here and there would not look too bad. A few minutes go by as Jellio’s fingers move swiftly rolling and unrolling several locks of hair. Finally done she turns the chair around to face the mirror with a resounding “TA DA. What do you think?” The grin on her facing stretches from cheek to cheek. Her arms reach toward the heavens as if she expects gold to start raining down in appreciation of her artwork. I wonder if she has ever seen Shirley Temple’s movies. Impressively each curl bounces with body. Turning from side to side, the ringlets spring around my head. Too bad, I’m not two. Ringlets belong on little girls preferably under the age of nine not fifty-year-old women.

  Meeting her eyes in the mirror my mouth softly says “no.” Damn I don’t know what the problem is with this woman. I cannot say it any planer than I already have. I need a hairstyle that is quick and easy to take care of. Glancing at the clock, I’m amazed at how much time has gone by. I need to end this quickly so I can get back home. I’m going to need a nap after this experience.

  The sound of scissors cutting through the air brings me back to reality. What is she thinking now? Panicking I start to get up from the chair for fear the scissors are coming towards me. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy the client in the next station getting a fantastic haircut. Her hair is the same length as mine, falling just past her shoulders. The front falls at an angle sleekly framing her face. Wispy bangs complete the sophisticated look. “I want that” my mind screams. Quickly sitting back down I run the back of my hand over my lips checking to make sure I’m not drooling over that perfect cut.

  Reaching up I grab Jellio’s sleeve pulling her face close to mine. “I want that haircut. If you cannot do it, I will move to her chair but I want that cut. Wash my hair again to remove all the crap you used then give me that cut, understand?” Jellio’s head bobs up and down quickly as she assures me she understands completely. Quickly we move to the washing station to undo everything and start fresh. This time there is no gentle massage, which is all right with me. I have spent too much time here already being her personal styling doll. Back in the salon chair, Jellio quickly gets down to business cutting hair. Her fingers fly at a steady pace as small pieces of hair fall in my lap. In no time, she is done with the scissors and reaching for the mousse. After spreading the whipped white foam through the damp hair, the blow dryer starts pushing the moisture out of my hair. Tendrils fly through the air as the cut takes shape. I hear a clicking sound as the dryer shuts off; my eyes stare in amazement. The cut is perfect. Each hair hangs at just the right angle framing my face perfectly. Smiling I stand up pulling off the smock so I can get a full mirror view. Absolutely perfect. I place a ten-dollar bill in Jellio’s tip cut, thank her and head for the door. Looking back from the receptionist’s desk I see Jellio slumped in her chair, head in hands. I have that affect on people. It would be no surprise if she goes
home early. Anyone else might be upset by that picture but not me. It is not as if the hairstyle was free. If I’m paying for a service, I expect to get what I want. She will be fine. A little quiet time alone, some good ice cream, maybe a rant or two and she will be ready for tomorrow. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a support group for people who wait on me.

  Thanking raccoon girl two I head out of the salon looking for something to quench my thirst. A growling stomach tells me the muffin has worn off; it is time for some real food. I know it is silly but I cannot stop looking at my hair in the store windows as I pass by. It looks sleek, sophisticated, and definitely sexy. Stopping in front of one shop, I imagine myself running into Rick. My hair swings seductively as my head tilts to show my interest. Words form on my lips silently escaping into thin air. Out of the corner of one eye, I catch a woman watching my interaction with the window mannequin. Her brows knit together as she tries to figure out if I’m a psycho or not. The heat of embarrassment rises adding a red tinge to my cheeks. I had better move along before she decides to call someone. I don’t have time to waste explaining a simple fantasy to mall security.

  Reaching the car, I remember I was supposed to stop by the food court for some lunch. It is a good thing my stomach knows enough to remind me I need to eat or I would die of starvation. One day the authorities could break into the house to find me sitting in my recliner nothing but skin and bones. There would be no sign of forced entry no blood on the floor, no weapons in sight. Starvation would be the first thought the police officers would come up with but once they looked in the cupboards and saw the unopened boxes of food the case would seem more complicated than it was. The refrigerator would have an ample supply of ham, cheese and of course, ice cream making my death a mystery to them. I of course would be watching from the spirit world trying to give them directions. “Nobody killed me,” I would shout into the mist. I just forgot to move my lazy behind and get some food.” The death certificate should list short-term memory loss as cause of death starvation as a by-product of not being able to remember anything.