bad hair day

It really sucks, you know. The doorbell rings just as I'm feeding my hair, and for one teeny moment I forget, and open the door without putting on my glasses first.

Poof. One stone television repair person on the porch.

I drag him inside and close the door before I notice anyone else. Shame, he looks like a decent sort, too. His heels scratch furrows into my linoleum as I manhandle (excuse me, wrestle) him to the back door and out into the yard. There he joins my unfortunately growing collection of statues. Some are nice and mossy by now – I've been here a while – but there's a distressing number of them wearing twentieth century clothing.

My hair starts hissing for their food, so I go inside and resume feeding them white mice, bought yesterday at a bargain price from the pet shop. I'm his best client, I'm sure. He thinks I keep pet snakes. He's not wrong.

I put on my make-up, my hair humming contentedly now that they're fed. That thing about mirrors … you have to understand, the guy had a magic mirror. Normal ones are not a problem. So I put on make-up, noting that the skin still looks pretty good after all these millenia. And I put on the wig. My hair really loathes the wig, I can tell you. But there's really no blending in with a head full of snakes, now is there?

Finally comes the momentarily forgotten glasses. Lead-impregnated, specially imported from Switzerland. They think I'm working with seriously weird radiation. It depends from which side you're looking, I suppose.

Then I'm off to work. I have a job as a lawyer's receptionist. Just typing, making appointments, the usual. People tend to freeze when I glare at them, but at least the glasses ensure that they resume moving afterwards. It's kind of useful, that way. I always have their full attention.

I remember to call the TV company to complain that the repair person had not fixed it. What's a girl to do but watch TV? It's not like I'm much into dating these days. There's the age difference, for one.

On the way home I stop by the supermarket for a TV meal, only to remember the tv is still broken. So I get MacDonalds and watch the sunset from my statue-filled garden. And life goes on.