Don’t Mess with Paulette’s Crowning Glory

Hello folks, let’s chat…Paulette dropped by earlier, and boy was she in a tizzy. She took at seat at the snack bar and launched into a rant about the government eavesdropping on her, Google storing her Internet searches, and the IRS asking nosy questions about her mama and them. As far as I know, Paulette isn’t being investigated by the IRS, but when the girl gets going, she’s hard to stop.

“Shellie,” she said, “You know how worried I’ve been about our country. Well, this receding hair line business is the last straw.”

I wouldn’t blame you for being confused, but I’ve learned to pick up where Paulette’s thought leaves off. Clearly, we were talking hair. My friends and I can talk hair anywhere for any length of time, and we regularly do. I just needed clarification.

“Are you saying your hairline is receding, Paulette? I don’t see it.”

Paulette reached up and patted her hair, “Heavens no. Not yet, anyway, but I have been bummed about my texture changing. Which is why I got so upset listening to the news earlier. I’m glad you’re sitting down, Shellie. They’re now saying the struggling economy is tied to receding hairlines. Yes’m! I thought about going right back to bed.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” I told her. “I saw that clip, too, and it was about recession hair— not receding hair.”

Paulette looked confused which meant I had a second or two at the most. “Recession Hair is just a term for a rather interesting economic indicator. Apparently, when the economy is bad women will let their hair grow longer between cuts and they’ll color it less often.”

Paulette glanced around the room and raised the volume a notch or two. “If you say so, Shellie, but you do know what’s going to happen if a bunch of belles start losing their crowning glory?”

I did, indeed. I also knew there was a Public Service Announcement straight ahead.

“It’s gonna be on chicken bone,” Paulette said, loudly. “And can’t nobody say we didn’t warn ‘em!”

Hugs, Shellie