All of
my life I have observed a phenomenon of hair. For generations, women
in my family - and women all over this country - have gone to the
beauty shop for their weekly, “standing” appointment. Now, this
is not the chic salon where businesswomen sip fine wine as they have
their “every-six-weeks” trim and highlight. No, this is
different.
As a
child of only 4 or 5 years, I distinctly remember having the rare
instance to be party to this weekly ritual. I remember it was a
Friday - always a Friday! A 10:00 appointment. The beauty shop was
small and tucked away on a tree-lined street among residential
homes. The pink sign out front proudly proclaimed “The Beauty
Bubble” to all who had any doubt as to what might be housed within
the walls of the pink and white abode.
Once
inside, the self-closing door snapped shut with a ring of the bell
perched above it. Then the beauty shop aroma might very well
overcome you. It was setting lotion and perm solution and Aqua Net
hairspray and cigarette smoke all rolled into one.
“Hey,
Lois! How are you? And who’s that little angel behind you?”
Their words reached around my grandmother’s cinched waist and
flowing skirt and made me hide even further around her back.
And so,
I sat entranced in the big seat with the hooded hairdryer as I
watched my grandmother be washed and set and then put under the
dryer right next to mine. Magazines littered the little salon, but I
wondered if anyone actually ever read them. Not a lot of reading
could be done for all of the important conversations going on.
“Did you hear about Eloise?” “No, what happened?” “Well,
it seems that she was having the milkman in for some cookies and
cream a few times a week, and Arnold came home from work early one
day, and well…let’s just say he found out why their milk supply
had been so ample lately.” The gossip was fresh and it was
plentiful. As I looked timidly around the room at all of the ladies
all washed and set, tsk tsk-ing at the latest “news” I wondered
if was really about the hairdo, or if it was really something else.
Back
then, women stayed home. They did the housework, prepared the meals,
did the laundry and stayed in that realm. They didn’t have email.
Telephones were on a party line, so you had to wait your turn (and
maybe “listen in” a little, too). There was no water-cooler talk
for ladies because they weren’t at the water cooler.
So now,
with women working outside the home in droves, email at our
fingertips 24/7 and cell phones strapped to us at all times, will
the weekly ‘do be lost on our generation? Only time will tell.
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