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Shirley Bouck

OK. I confess – I’m a very high maintenance person. My mom was, too, and while it’s not congenital, the perfect picture she presented every day no doubt influenced me greatly. I sort of remind myself of the postal workers motto: “Neither snow nor sleet nor wind nor rain shall keep me from my appointed rounds.” This, by the way, is an inaccurate quote as I couldn’t fathom how “nor gloom of night,” figures into it. Anyway, you get my gist, and for the last 45 years, none of the above has kept me from my appointed rounds, either.

Every Thursday, I travel to my “home away from home” and get my hair shampooed and styled. Every other Thursday, I get my nails manicured. It’s a little embarrassing, but my level of maintenance is so high, every three months I get my toenails “overhauled” and polished. Hmm. That would be vanity, I suspect, but I soothe my conscience by remembering that I neither smoke nor drink, except for an occasional glass of wine, so the money that I would be spent on a precursor to lung cancer or perhaps cirrhosis of the liver, I spend on making this old broad as acceptable looking as possible.

My “home away from home” is a very warm, friendly beauty salon with eight stylists and one manicurist. When I arrive for my 9:30 a.m. appointment, I’m greeted with multiple, cheery “Hi Shirleys” and even better, a hot cup of coffee ready and waiting. The owner of the shop seems to go out of her way to keep us all happy and comfortable during the time we are there, and then sends us back out into the world looking very, very good.

I know most everyone who is there on Thursdays, including the other clients. There is one who uses a different stylist than I, but has the appointment just ahead of mine when she gets her nails done. We are on the same schedules, so every other week, I see and talk (actually listen) to her. Her hair is beautifully white and styled in a chic short “do.” I have often thought she needs to work a little on her communication skills. To put it bluntly, she truly is a cranky old bat. She’s a year older than I am, and maybe if I were on a walker and plugged into an oxygen tank, I’d be cranky, too. But as Forrest Gump said, “Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re going to get.” In her case, apparently she didn’t get what she liked or wanted, but that’s no excuse for taking her frustrations out on the very people who are doing their best to please her – it doesn’t seem very fair. But what amazes me most about her is that after criticizing and crucifying everything about the nail artist from what she’s wearing to how she’s raising her son, she finishes up by demanding a hug before she leaves. Once, after listening to her tirade, I innocently asked how many children she had. Her answer – none. Ah, no wonder she’s such an expert. I can only think she is a very unhappy lady and wants to create unhappiness for everyone around her. Difficult for me to understand – I just know I don’t want to behave that way. Nor, in fairness, should I. I’m lucky to have reasonably good health, and to be able to enjoy the amenities of life like getting my hair and nails done by experts.

I said to my operator, “C’mon – I know you can do it. Just make me the best looking octogenarian around.” She stopped what she was doing, looked me in the eye and said, “Shirley, I’m a beautician, not a magician.” Ouch! That hurt, but I still like her.