Well, at least it’s not raining.
Mom has the ironing board out, my pant cuffs could cut steel. The phone rings. It’s my aunt.
Is Tonight the night, she asks. Mom says yes. My aunt chuckles. The beauty parlor is bursting with seventh grade girls, mothers hovering like spring locusts. The owner complaining her workers can’t go fast enough, mothers inquiring how this or that makeup looks.
She adds that some of the girls look like they could soar from joy, others are seeing the 13 gallows steps outside the door.
Supper is early, need time to get dressed. The shirt collar is hungry and piercing. I think my Adam’s Apple is shredding. I’m careful not to bathe in the Hai Karate. Too many men think it’s cool to have their sludge scurry into a room before their body.
The old man wants Bryl Cream in my hair. I think I have to pee. We compromise on a “little dab” (as the ad says) on the back. He’s chain smoking; my getting dressed interrupts Huntley & Brinkley.
I stand before the mirror. kidding myself I look real smooth. Can’t wait to get home and pick up a book. I try to console myself with air guitar.
OK, ready to go. Let the chips fall where they may.