Today I was scheduled to get waxed before I frolic on the beaches of the Dominican Republic during my honeymoon. Did you know some Indiana salon-spas are located in the same building as a furniture store? This gave my chauffeur mother plenty to do while I made wincing small talk with the ceiling. Mom examined an end table while I gripped the sides of a torture table. The specialist Natalie asked if I minded having my toes done along with my legs, free of charge. "To me it's like leaving a tooth unbrushed," she confided. I guess I've had pedi-gingivitis my whole life.
Later on, while shopping for attendant gifts in a mall, my mother stopped in front of a store window and said, "It's you!" She often does this for an Old Navy or JC Penney poster or any ad with a young African-American woman holding a beach ball. This time it was for a lanky white woman with a blonde aftro wig. Nothing like having a stranger point out toe-hair and your mother compare you to an albino to prepare you for being on display.
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