Diode, Cathode, Electrode, Overload, Generator, Oscillator
Sometimes I ask myself the tricky questions like, "WHAT color is my HAIR?" and "Madame, though I could swear I was with you the whole time, I must know: where have you been since Friday night?" Well, who gets to be that rude with me and get away with all their teeth? I mean, besides Siobhan and Daria, and Miss Sasha, Trout and LaLa, Anya and Corinne. Auntie InExcelsisDeo, Darla, all my cousins and anyone who's ever been my friend? Guess that leaves me.
Tata: Have you looked at our head?
Tata: What's wrong with our head?
Tata: In case you hadn't noticed your hair has oxidized back to its natural colors.
Tata: What?! You are blind, lady. That's red.
Tata: Your nails are red. Your hair is brown.
Tata: Lying bitch! That's a subtle red, with less subtle red running through it.
Tata: Listen Helen Keller, that's brown hair! If you don't do something about it I'm turning you in at the hair salon for punitive coloration. With extreme prejudice.
Tata: Okay! Okay! But I get to pick the color!
Tata: No, you get to shut up and pick socks.
Izzat so? I guess that's better than nothing because today I wore hospital-issue slipper socks. More than half my pairs have become solitaries and someone was using the laundry room every time I went down there all weekend. Tempers flare when a tenant leaves laundry in the sole washing machine. I've got to buy myself a washer before I stick a meat fork into the sternum of the next harridan who takes my clothes out of the machine during the spin cycle. Which reminds me: I have to shop for cutlery if I ever want to have guests over for PopTarts.
So my hair is an exciting comicbook red since I'd stocked up on boxed tints, and the Philomusica concerts are behind us. Did you miss them? The selections were fantastic fun for certifiable music nutballs like myself. You might have enjoyed many aspects of the evening. The church's atrium was mostly glass, tile and giant potted plants. Whenever the heat came up the glass click-click-clicked, making the whole building feel twitchy. In the center of the lobby stood a holy water font - except that since I've never been Catholic, to me it looked like a giant marble egg cup and suddenly I wondered about pteridactyl eggs benedict. The Schubert pieces had a lovely waltzing quality that reminded me of ice skating and cocoa. The Mozart made me think, as Mozart always does, of secrets, clean sonic lines and grave danger. The choir was wonderful and if you can believe it, those crazy people left me in charge of the money after intermission. Don't think you'll find my pawprints inside the cashbox. I'm far too lazy for larceny.
On Sunday, I opened my vegetable door and a tumbleweed rolled by. I called Paulie Gonzalez, whose travel schedule almost certainly precluded vegetables green for the first time. We have good talks in the farmers' market on Route 1. I have to go with someone else because driving on Route 1 makes my eyes ache, body-to-body contact with strangers fills me with rancor, and being poor makes me want to run screaming from retail outlets. Last week, Lupe and I went to Kohl's with coupons and I had to have a serious talk with myself in the sweater section.
Tata: Sherbet colors. I'd toss my cookies but the whole place looks like someone already has.
Tata: Woman! You are going to pick four sweaters you only mildly loathe, and we are buying them!
Tata: Are you out of your mind? These are acrylics!
Tata: Guess what? You're allergic to wool. You're allergic to cashmere and angora. You're allergic to anything shaved off a sheep or a goat, and remember what happened when you tried to wear genuine lapin?
Tata: Carrots still make me nervous.
Tata: You have enough clothes for a week, and a lost weekend at a costume party. Pick four sweaters. If you still haven't yakked, maybe you could find a bra. And you need pants, unless you plan on ignoring a breeze and an arresting officer.
Tata: One frightfest at a time! Do you think I could pick out an aqua sweater and follow that with a 3D view of my butt? Not without a handful of Xanax and a badly behaved hypnotist!
Tata: Rock on!
Lupe's presence made it possible for me to buy sweaters and two bras; Paulie's invariably delivers to my kitchen a fresh and fragrant bounty. If only I could figure out who are the Good Fairies of Socks, Washer/Dryers and cutlery, I might narrow down who might be the Good Witch, the one who whacks me on the head and makes me gift-shop. I sure hope that doesn't turn out to be me, too.