The Salon Girls

Dear Uncle Max,


I am starting to be what they call "a regular."  Thursday afternoon is when I head to the hair salon with my Mom. The pedicures and manicures (I think I would qualify only for the "pedis" since I have no hands) take place in the back of the narrow shop. It is a cozy group of chatty women, packed closely together, always sharing something important.  Each week I see the same women that work there. Some of the customers are the same week after week; some are new. They call this their "therapy."  But it's not the same kind of "therapy" my mother has in mind for me. 


Max, this pampering is not meant for dogs. I get my nails trimmed in a truck. I am not a walk-in, though, because Jessey drives up by appointment only.  She's all business and just cuts my nails; no pleasant banter, no soapy dips, no one to sniff, it's all over in a few minutes.


But you would not believe what goes on  in the salon. The women gab and joke, as if they don't realize that I am carefully listening to every word.  You see, I sit completely still, and try to never let on by moving my body or my head...only my eyes.


On this day one of the beauticians was anxiously waiting for her workday to end so she could get away.  She said the last time she had a vacation was when she was five years old, and yet she still felt guilty about it.  My mother told her to ignore those feelings and to enjoy her time off or she would spank her.


She said, "Oh, I might like that!"  Then a quietly shocked woman said, "Shhh...Toby might be listening."




Tobes