marrying Daddy) is her fanatic devotion to the Home Shopping Club. The woman has enough cubic zirconia to light up Times Square.
But enough about my parents. I’m sure you’ve got parents of your own to worry about. The point is, I’d had a good day and I wanted to keep it that way. I wasn’t in the mood for a domestic crisis, or one of Daddy’s bad e-mail jokes. I’d definitely save their letters for tomorrow.
Instead, I settled into bed with Ben, Jerry, and Prozac. The four of us happily watched an old Doris Day movie. At the beginning of the movie, Doris is a sensible woman, happy to be alone and independent. Not moping around, dreaming of having a man in her life. Why couldn’t Kandi and Lance be more like me and Doris? But then, of course, Doris falls head over heels in love with Rock Hudson and defects to the Lance/Kandi camp.
I thought about Lance and Kandi, and their quest for Mr. Right.
“What do you think?” I said, scooping Prozac up into my arms. “Are they the smart ones for trying? Am I a fool for holing myself up in the apartment with you? Should I give it one more chance and go out with that guy from Kandi’s show?”
Prozac purred in my arms, doing her best to look adorable. Of course you’re better off holed up here with me. Who wouldn’t be?
The phone rang. It was Lance.
“What guy from Kandi’s show?”
I told him what little I knew about Tommy the Termite.
“Promise me you’ll go out with him,” he said. “I won’t hang up till you promise.”
So I promised, and we hung up. I turned out the light, Doris and Rock still flickering in the background.
Maybe I would go out with Mr. Termite. And maybe one of these days when I talked to a man in bed, there wouldn’t be a wall between us.
YOU’VE GOT MAIL!
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: You’ll Never Guess What Your Father’s Done Now
Well, honey, I hope things are fine in Los Angeles, because they sure aren’t fine here in Florida. You’ll never guess what your father’s done now. He’s gone and bought a toupee.
It wouldn’t be so bad if he’d bought a regular toupee or joined the Hair Club for Men like a normal human being. But no, your father bought the darn thing at a thrift shop. That’s right. He bought a used toupee!
We were at the thrift shop donating some clothing, when suddenly I looked up and saw Daddy with this ratty brown monstrosity on his head. I swear, Jaine, it looks just like squirrel fur. I begged him not to buy it, but you know how stubborn your father can be once he makes up his mind.
“Where am I going to find another toupee like this?” he asked. “Try the city dump,” I said. But he ignored me and bought it anyway. He insisted on wearing it out of the store. I was so darn angry I didn’t even tell him that the price tag was dangling down his neck.
And now he’s strutting around like he’s God’s gift to women. He thinks people are staring at him because he looks “dashing,” when the truth is they’re staring because he looks like a recent escapee from a lunatic asylum.
Today at the Tampa Vistas Clubhouse, old Mrs. Farraday took one look at the toupee and said, “What a cute hat. Just like the one Omar Sharif wore in Dr. Zhivago.”
You’d think your father would be embarrassed. But no. He says Mrs. Farraday is senile and wouldn’t know a quality toupee if it sat in her lap. Even worse, now he thinks he looks like Omar Sharif.
Honestly, Jaine, with that toupee on, your father is a totally different person. It’s like living with a stranger. A stranger with a dead squirrel on his head. I told him I absolutely refused to have “dipsy doodle” with him if he wore that damn thing to bed. And so for the time being at least, he’s taking it off at night.
Love from,
Mom
To: Shoptillyoudrop
From: Jausten
Subject: Try Not to Worry
Please, Mom, the less I know about you and Daddy “dipsy doodling,” the better.
Try not to worry. Daddy’s always trying new things. Sooner or later, he gets tired of them. Remember the time he bought that case of “factory seconds” self-tanning lotion and he was convinced he looked like George Hamilton until his skin turned orange?
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Yes, I remember. We’re still paying the dermatologist’s bills.
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Good news
Hi, Cookie!
Did Mom tell you the good news? I bought a toupee. A top quality hairpiece. And what a difference it makes. I look years younger, and not only that, it keeps my head warm, too. Especially in air conditioned restaurants. I’ll bet I won’t catch half as many colds as I used to.
And I don’t mind admitting, I’m getting lots of interested looks from the ladies. One of the gals at the clubhouse told me I looked just like Omar Sharif.
I’m afraid your mother is jealous of all the attention I’m getting. She makes fun of me because I bought the toupee at a thrift shop, but look who’s talking. This is a woman who buys steaks from the shopping channel. Every supermarket in town sells steaks, but no, your mother has to buy them from the television. And she makes fun of me because I bought my hair at a thrift shop?
Take care, honey.
Your loving,
Daddy
PS. Here’s a cute joke I heard at the clubhouse: What goes CLOP CLOP, BANG BANG, CLOP CLOP?
An Armenian drive-by shooting!
To: DaddyO
From: Jausten
Thanks for the joke, Daddy. But I think it’s supposed to be an Amish drive-by shooting. Because their horses go clop clop. Get it?
About your new head of hair: Are you sure you want to be wearing a used toupee? I mean, you have no idea who might have worn it before you. What if they had a scalp disease?
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Previously Owned
First of all, honey. My toupee is not “used.” It’s “previously owned.” The lady at the thrift shop told me it belonged to Burt Reynolds! Either him, or Sam Donaldson. And no need to worry about germs. I’ve already sprayed it with Lysol.
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Self-respecting germ
Your father just sprayed his toupee with Lysol. He needn’t have bothered. No self-respecting germ would be caught dead in that wig.
I’ve simply got to think of a way to get rid of it.
Your desperate,
Mom
Chapter Three
I sat on SueEllen Kingsley’s toilet bowl with a sense of foreboding. Not about the book. After five minutes listening to SueEllen prattle, I knew her book (At Home With SueEllen) would never see the light of day. Not with recipes that began, “Have your maid debone a turkey…” This was a woman who probably needed