Remember the film, Steel Magnolias, and how life for a group of women in a small southern town revolved around the goings on in a beauty parlor? If you’ve never seen the movie or the play, I highly recommend it. Or you could just come visit me and I’ll take you to the salon I patronize in Blountstown, Florida. You’d get the gist of the movie pretty quickly. I love this salon and the women who work there.
Blountstown took a big hit from Hurricane Michael, and I wasn’t sure G, the owner, would be open for business yet. I called the salon on Tuesday and one of the stylists assured me they were operating as usual. I drove the 40-something miles down Florida’s backroads noting how much more damage was evident the further south and west I got from Tallahassee. Way more trees were down and many more roofs were damaged. Several buildings were completely gone with only foundations remaining.
The salon was hopping when I arrived and I waited as G finished blow drying a customer’s hair. G is something of an artist and I love to watch her work. Of course most of the talk centered on what folks had experienced during the storms. One of the stylists, B, lost her home in the hurricane, while another, R, had very little damage to hers. G’s came through the storm fine, but there were some near misses at the salon.
All three of the ladies came back to work at the salon as soon as they could after Michael, shampooing hair for free for those who had no electricity at their homes. Now, that’s pure southern comfort.
When it was my turn in the chair we talked about the new version of “A Star is Born.” None of them had seen it, so I gave them my take on the movie. Actually we discussed Bradley Cooper and which of us were meant to be with him. I’m pretty sure I won that argument simply because I’m writing this post, and I get to be the heroine of my own story.
B said she’d prefer country singer Chris Stapleton anyway, because in her words, “He looks like he’d smell like diesel and dirt.” That should be the title of a country song, right?
Talk came back around to the storm and a day when the ladies were doing their free shampoos. R said, “There was a woman in here who said things had gotten so bad at her house during the hurricane that she’d sat in a corner with her Bible and her beads.”
B said, “And when my client heard that she whispered, ‘Does she mean anal beads?'”
I guffawed. B continued, “We don’t get a lot of Catholics ’round here!” Obviously not.
After G worked her magic, I paid, leaving feeling lighter than I had in days. And not just because of my haircut.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 