Trophy Wives lead glamorous lives.
Okay, not really. But a true Trophy Wife is inclined to find the glamour in her life. And if there isn't any glamour, then she must, at the very least, be good-natured about it all.
Which really describes my day. To the T. (As in Trophy, of course).
I go to get my nails done at my favorite place, conveniently located in the K-mart shopping center. Yeah, I know. But I've got a great nail girl and I can even remember her name now, Yvonne. (Click here for a previous post all about Yvonne). The shop has amusing signs like "Waxing. $30 for 1/2 Leg" and I like to imagine asking my girl to wax just the front half of my leg (who sees the back anyway? Not me!) . Or maybe the right side of my leg or if I'm feeling really crazy, let's wax it on the diagonal!
It is a quiet morning in the salon. I am amused to watch the other "nail care providers" monkey around and kill time.
One of the new dudes (I will call him Jim) is in the back behind a beaded partition, which doesn't part much. He has a mannequin head back there with long dark hair. He is squirting the head with--I swear--windex and then parts it and clips it, parts it and clips it. Then he clips it and parts it. Danny is chain-smoking out front even though I tell him it'll kill him. Some very old dude I do not know, also Vietnamese and whom I will call Robert, is sitting on the couch reading "Woman's Day". I am not sure if he is reading "5 Clutter Busters--They'll Surprise you!" or "Fall's Cutest Cookies Easy How-Tos" but the expression on his face is clearly not one of surprise, so perhaps it is the latter.
And Cindy is hungry. She comes from the back where Jim continues to clip and part, carrying a tray of white stuff. This white stuff is cut in large triangles and has forks sticking out. Of each piece. Straight up.
Since I'm the only client there at the time. she asks politely, "Would you like some?" And so I am taken off guard. Completely. I don't know what is happening but I hear myself say, "Sure, I'll try it." And before I know it she cuts off way too large of a piece and spears it with a fork and hands it to me.
Yvonne says, "It's jelly" and I think of "jello" (a personal favorite) and for some reason I bite off some of it.
At first I am okay. It is firmer than I expect. It feels bouncy. I think to myself, "if I drop this on the floor, I believe it will bounce right back." I swallow. Coconut! I recognize the flavor. Vaguely. Because there is another flavor also. And I don't care for it. And I remember Danny telling me how when he lived in Vietnam his dogs got stolen and cooked up in the restaurants and I'm looking at this white stuff and wondering what the heck is in it and I'm not feeling so good and now what do I do with it?
Note: Upon returning home to my blessed Google, I have found the following, slightly stomach-roll inducing information: Agar is a gelatinous substance derived from seaweed. Historically and in a modern context, it is chiefly used as an ingredient in desserts, but in the past century has found extensive use as a solid substrate to contain culture medium for microbiological work. (Oh YUM!) The gelling agent is an unbranched polysaccharide obtained primarily fromseaweed (Sphaerococcus euchema).
Further Note: Anything with "ococcus" in it DOES NOT BELONG in my mouth.
So I do what any Trophy Wife would do. I take another huge bite. I realize that the best way to make it go away is to eat it.
Wait! What am I thinking? I feel a gag coming on. I swallow. I feel gag tears coming to my eyes.
The only option now is to pretend to blow my nose and slide the substance off the fork and into my kleenex and then drop it in my purse.
"Oh, no thank you, Cindy. No more for me! I'm full!" I say, patting the belly for emphasis.
Which reminds me. I need to get that stuff out of my purse.
P.S. Of course those toes aren't mine!
No comments:
Post a Comment