Stay-at-Home Shopping

Friday, June 23, 1995

On Wednesday, I stopped at a garage sale and bought David a pair of roller skates. Present at the time were two children and a lady with babe in arms. I assumed she was their mother. However, as I turned to leave, she followed. My little crew and I were accompanied to the corner, where she went her way and we went ours not, however, before she asked me three times where we lived. I was pretty vague. I just kept telling her, "In 5 Poniente. Well, next morning there was a knock on our door and there stood a lady with a basket.

"Another tortilla saleslady," I thought.

Surprise! "Twas the Avon lady, my companion from the day before. I was confused at first. She was asking if I used "Avon" and I thought she was saying "soap" (jabon).

"Oh, of course," was my reply.

Then she showed me her book and I quickly told her I did not use Avon. She stood outside my door and chatted for a few minutes determined, I think, to find a way in. I pleasantly chatted, too, determined not to let her in. Then she asked why Alex had been crying when she arrived. I told her he'd fallen off my bed. She was horror-struck! Had he hit his head? I replied that he had. Well, she had a most necessary wonder cure. Could she show me?

I reluctantly let her in and gathered the necessary items ­ a towel and rubbing alcohol. First she poured a hand-cup full of alcohol into her hand and rubbed it all over in Alex's hair. Then she spent a minute or two tightly pressing his head in her hands, trying to cover every centimeter of head space. The rubbing alcohol off her hands, and his hair not yet drenched, the process was repeated. Poor Alex kept giving me pleading glances and, as he whimpered, he moved closer and closer to me until he had moved from the end of my lap to being pressed tightly against me with his arms tightly around me. This action managed to convince our medicine lady he'd had enough so she proceeded to the next step ­ wrapping a towel pirate-style around his head. He didn't like that at all, and immediately tried to rip the towel off. I prevented such an action, telling him, "Just hang in there. She'll be gone in a few minutes."

And she was. Whew! Not, however, before rubbing alcohol all over Alex's legs and feet while talking to me. Why? I don't know. I didn't ask.

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last updated May 31, 1999