day I have to stand on the scales, and I have to write down everything I eat, but that's no big deal, because I only get to eat teeny-weeny portions of everything, and you know what I had for dessert? Half an apple. Tell me
all
about it."
"Well, let's see, I took the bus in, and I got there at nine-fifteen, and—"
"No, wait. I didn't mean modeling school. Of course I want to know about modeling school. But I meant, first of all, tell me all about the lemon meringue pie, every single detail."
Anastasia, in her pajamas, sat on her bed and brushed her hair. "Frank," she said to her goldfish, "tomorrow is Hair Restyling Day at my modeling course."
Frank said "oh" silently.
"If you were part of the singles scene, Frank, instead of a loner, would you prefer a female with long or short hair?"
Frank stared at her.
"Curly, or straight?" Anastasia asked, dragging the brush through her hair.
He stared, and flipped his tail.
"Punk style, maybe? But I wouldn't want it dyed weird colors. I saw this girl once with her hair dyed
orange.
That was sooooo gross."
She looked at him, and he looked back at her mournfully. "I'm sorry, Frank," Anastasia said apologetically. "I forgot that you're orange. It really is an okay color for a goldfish."
Frank wiggled his behind happily.
"Also," Anastasia went on, "if you were a married goldfish, Frank, how would you feel about supporting your wife financially in her chosen career? My dad says that I would probably feel happier if I were independent and financially successful, and he said there's no reason why I couldn't be that way as a bookstore owner, and that maybe he sent me to the wrong bookstore owner for an interview, even though Barbara Page is a terrific lady—
"Frank? You're not listening to me!"
Frank formed a very large "Oooooh" with his mouth. If he could speak out loud, Anastasia thought, he would speak very distinctly. And he certainly did look you right in the eye. One thing about old Frank, for sure; he had
poise.
Anastasia Krupnik
My Chosen Career
A rich husband is not a necessity for a bookstore owner.
But if you don't have a rich husband, it is probably not a good idea to have a Heart of Gold. It is necessary, according to one person I interviewed, * to have a Heart of Steel. You have to learn to say no to people who want to return books with coffee stains, and you have to sell books to people who have bad eyesight even if they would prefer records, and you can't serve lunch once a week to groups of senior citizens.
It is all right, though, to serve wine and cheese to forty-seven people who come to meet a moderately well known poet.
7
"Don't even take your coats off, kids," Aunt Vera said to the five modeling-course students when they arrived at Studio Charmante on Tuesday morning. "For Hair Styling we go across the street."
"Across the street," Henry Peabody muttered to Anastasia, "is a Chinese restaurant. They think they're making won ton soup outta my hair, they better think again."
"I always put mousse on my hair," Bambie Browne announced loudly. "It gives body and highlights."
"Bullwinkle Moose?" Henry asked in an innocent voice, and Bambie glared.
Helen Margaret squinted through her shaggy bangs and didn't say anything.
"I'll stay here and man the phone," Uncle Charley announced, and eased his enormous bulk into the chair at the front desk. During the entire day before, the phone had not rung once. But Anastasia could understand why Uncle Charley didn't want to participate in the hair styling. Uncle Charley had no hair. Not a single hair on his head.
Aunt Vera, holding a scruffy-looking fake-fur coat around her, led the way down the stairs. She guided the four girls, with Robert Giannini and his briefcase bringing up the rear, across the street, through a door beside the Chinese restaurant, up a flight of stairs, and into a beauty parlor.
It was not much different from Studio Charmante: the same fluorescent lights, the same crummy linoleum floor. But
all
about it."
"Well, let's see, I took the bus in, and I got there at nine-fifteen, and—"
"No, wait. I didn't mean modeling school. Of course I want to know about modeling school. But I meant, first of all, tell me all about the lemon meringue pie, every single detail."
Anastasia, in her pajamas, sat on her bed and brushed her hair. "Frank," she said to her goldfish, "tomorrow is Hair Restyling Day at my modeling course."
Frank said "oh" silently.
"If you were part of the singles scene, Frank, instead of a loner, would you prefer a female with long or short hair?"
Frank stared at her.
"Curly, or straight?" Anastasia asked, dragging the brush through her hair.
He stared, and flipped his tail.
"Punk style, maybe? But I wouldn't want it dyed weird colors. I saw this girl once with her hair dyed
orange.
That was sooooo gross."
She looked at him, and he looked back at her mournfully. "I'm sorry, Frank," Anastasia said apologetically. "I forgot that you're orange. It really is an okay color for a goldfish."
Frank wiggled his behind happily.
"Also," Anastasia went on, "if you were a married goldfish, Frank, how would you feel about supporting your wife financially in her chosen career? My dad says that I would probably feel happier if I were independent and financially successful, and he said there's no reason why I couldn't be that way as a bookstore owner, and that maybe he sent me to the wrong bookstore owner for an interview, even though Barbara Page is a terrific lady—
"Frank? You're not listening to me!"
Frank formed a very large "Oooooh" with his mouth. If he could speak out loud, Anastasia thought, he would speak very distinctly. And he certainly did look you right in the eye. One thing about old Frank, for sure; he had
poise.
Anastasia Krupnik
My Chosen Career
A rich husband is not a necessity for a bookstore owner.
But if you don't have a rich husband, it is probably not a good idea to have a Heart of Gold. It is necessary, according to one person I interviewed, * to have a Heart of Steel. You have to learn to say no to people who want to return books with coffee stains, and you have to sell books to people who have bad eyesight even if they would prefer records, and you can't serve lunch once a week to groups of senior citizens.
It is all right, though, to serve wine and cheese to forty-seven people who come to meet a moderately well known poet.
7
"Don't even take your coats off, kids," Aunt Vera said to the five modeling-course students when they arrived at Studio Charmante on Tuesday morning. "For Hair Styling we go across the street."
"Across the street," Henry Peabody muttered to Anastasia, "is a Chinese restaurant. They think they're making won ton soup outta my hair, they better think again."
"I always put mousse on my hair," Bambie Browne announced loudly. "It gives body and highlights."
"Bullwinkle Moose?" Henry asked in an innocent voice, and Bambie glared.
Helen Margaret squinted through her shaggy bangs and didn't say anything.
"I'll stay here and man the phone," Uncle Charley announced, and eased his enormous bulk into the chair at the front desk. During the entire day before, the phone had not rung once. But Anastasia could understand why Uncle Charley didn't want to participate in the hair styling. Uncle Charley had no hair. Not a single hair on his head.
Aunt Vera, holding a scruffy-looking fake-fur coat around her, led the way down the stairs. She guided the four girls, with Robert Giannini and his briefcase bringing up the rear, across the street, through a door beside the Chinese restaurant, up a flight of stairs, and into a beauty parlor.
It was not much different from Studio Charmante: the same fluorescent lights, the same crummy linoleum floor. But
Similar Books
Sweeter Than Honey: (Scifi Shapeshifter Erotica) (The Revenant Chronicles Book 1)
Mina Carter, J.William Mitchell
