Thursday, November 8, 2012

It Ain't Heavy, It's My Soda

I got my hair cut today. Thank the Gummi Mary, it was a day off for The Butcher of Seville. Maybe she doesn't even work at Good Cuts anymore. Maybe she accidentally lopped off some customer's head. I imagine that sort of behavior is frowned upon in a business establishment. You can't just go around decapitating people willy-nilly without expecting repercussions.

I was disappointed that the Janice Dickinson look-alike was not at her station. I've grown kind of fond of her. She always gives me a good trim. Even though she's a little rough around the edges, we have common ground for conversation. Her favorite topic being Hillbilly Handfishin'. The show on Animal Planet, not the sport. She is mostly shocked that people pay good money to crawl around in murky water and jam their hands into the root mazes of submerged trees, eagerly waiting for a giant catfish to swallow their appendage. She is even more shocked at how people can make money by taking in boarders for a week and walking them up and down a muddy river.

Today I got the girl I think of as Chatty Patty. She talks nonstop about whatever pops into her head. The problem is, she talks with her hands. So a haircut takes a while, because she stops cutting while she's talking. She likes to look at herself in the mirror while she gesticulates. When she shuts up for a minute, she clips away efficiently and accurately.

Chatty Patty asked what our plans were for the day. No, she was not referring to me and the mouse in my pocket. I had taken my mom out for the morning while I had a medical appointment. She loves to go for a ride even more than my childhood miniature poodle. Of course, Mom minds her manners, and does not stick her head out the window. I told Chatty Patty that we were going to my very special convenience store in order to purchase 44 oz. Diet Coke refills for the low, low price of eighty cents apiece. Chatty asked if I had ever tried a soda from That One Convenience Store.

I know the establishment of which she speaks. My sister the ex-mayor's wife swears by it. She LOVES their soda. She even brings one to Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. Yeah. We're a classy family. Far be it from me to question another's taste for a carbonated caffeinated beverage. But I did ask Chatty Patty what made those sodas from That One Convenience Store so special.

"They're heavy soda. Oh, they're SO good! I love them. I always go there."

Pardon me. But I am not familiar with the term heavy soda. I have heard the term heavy water in passing. So I Googled it just now, and will probably turn up on a watch list of some sort. I did not mention heavy water to Chatty Patty. But I DID ask what she meant by heavy soda. If you can't ask your hairdresser, who CAN you ask?

"It is full of syrup. It's SO sweet. It's delicious."

Okay. So Chatty Patty takes her soda leaded, not unleaded. I'm not sure what Sis drinks. But that could explain her affinity for the stuff.

Another day, another factoid filed in the recesses of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's brain.


Sioux said...

I knew exactly what she meant...I love "heavy" sodas too, which might account for my heavy...butt? Gut?

Sipping syrupy sodas...A delightful way to spend an afternoon.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

Maybe her soda is too heavy on caffiene, making her so chatty.

Hillbilly Mom said...

You people and your sugar! I could never consume 44 oz of real soda. It's filling.

She must have spiked her heavy soda with Red Bull.