Chapter Forty-four

THE ANDERCHRONICLES

By Me, Ellee

[WARNING: The following story has been rated FNF*]
*Fiction NOT Fact

"Make-overs Are Me"

Andy was right—oatmeal tastes like wall paper paste! I could hardly choke it down. Each time I raised a spoonful to my lips, I saw that little box sitting across from me, just taunting me as it kept calling out, There’s a boot inside! There’s a boot inside! And as if that wasn’t enough, it started screaming, Andy’s giving you the boot! Andy’s giving you the boot! How can a poor girl eat with all that going on? So I pushed the congealed glob away and just sat there, staring at the little package . . . which held my destiny.

And then, before I knew it, a tiny little tear had made its way up my well-worn tear duct and squeezed itself out. After a moment, another joined it. Before too long, word got out and several more came to make it all official—I was crying. And they were big tears. Really big tears. And, it seems, they had all told two friends, and they all told two friends, and that’s when the cistern overflowed and tears came crashing down all around me, flooding my world, while the tiny little heartstrings of my soul went ping, as they all snapped and broke in two.

Just then I heard Harriet screeching,

“ELLEE, ELLEE! Hurry up! Time’s wasting!”

Indeed . . . time was wasting, and where Harriet was concerned every second counted. So I pushed myself away from my world, and into Harriet’s just as she burst into the kitchen.

“Ellee, haven’t you finished your oatmeal, yet?”she boomed.

“I’m finished, Harriet.”

“Good!” She blurted, as she plunked herself into Andy’s chair.

Andy’s chair! Where was he? I misssssed him. Andy, where are you? Ohhhhhhhh, Andy, Andy, Andy. I just wanted to see him, if only for a minute. Why, oh why do you want to be rid of me? Andeeeeeeeeee.

“ELLEE! LOOK AT ME! Concentrate! What do we have to do first?”

“First?”

Concentrate. I told myself. Focus. Stay in Harriet’s world. But I found it so difficult to stay in her world when I kept slipping back into mine. Andeeeeeeeee, ohhhh Andeeeeeee.

“Ellee, what do we do first?” came the question again as Harriet clapped her hands loudly in my face, jolting me back.

I had no idea what came first, or second. And as I looked at her across the table I knew there was no hope for her anyway, just like there was no hope for me, either. We were both doomed. Doomed, I tell you! Andeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

“Harriet, why is this so important? Why do you need a make-over?”

“I already told you I want to go to the singles’ bar tonight. And I want to be unforgettable, exciting, and alluring. I want to drive men wild with unspeakable desire.”

“What???”

The only unspeakable desire she could drive men wild with was a desire to drop her off in some dark ally, and then make a hasty getaway, or tie a heavy bag of sand around her waist, if it would reach, and drop her off in the harbor. I had wanted to do that several times, myself.

“And,” she added, "tonight’s the NIGHT I meet MISTER RIGHT!

“Mister Right? Who is HE? Is this anybody in particular?”

“The man of my dreams,” she cooed, as her eyes, now spinning like roulette wheels in Vegas, got all dreamy and far away.

I had already met the man of my dreams . . . and . . . and . . . he was throwing me out!!!! He couldn’t do that, could he??? Of course he could . . . and would . . . and will, just as soon as I open that little box. DANG! It just wasn’t fair! DANG! DANG! DANG!

“ELLEE!” Harriet snapped, as she snapped her large, cucumber-like fingers in front of my face. “Stay with me!”

I shook my head and fixed my gaze on her, hoping that would force a focus on the task at hand—her face.

“Well, okay,” I sighed at last, resignation setting in, “let me see . . . ummmmm . . . the first step in our make-over plan is to . . . to . . .”

Then I saw it—the vision, the plan—the NEW and IMPROVED and alluring Harriet.

“ . . . the first thing, Harriet, is to just say no to all that vestigial primal fur you’ve been harboring over the years.

“Vestigial primal fur? What do you mean, Ellee?”

“That furry stuff thriving on your arms and legs and face. When caveman first arrived on the scene, that stuff kept him warm, and when he went looking for a mate, fur was a big plus, the more she had, the warmer he was, and the less time she spent at Cave-Mart shopping for clothes to keep her from freezing, but now . . . well, it's a real negative if you want to be alluring.”

I then looked her squarely in the eye and gave it to her straight,

“This will require a total body wax, Harriet.”

Upon hearing that, her eyes immediately started bouncing up and down and all around, reminding me of the little silver balls in a pinball machine. When her eyes settled, although they hadn’t scored, she asked,

“Does that hurt?”

“Yes, of course it hurts—a lot!”

I could see from the look on her face she wasn’t convinced this should be the first step, or even the last.

“Harriet, you have to do it! It’s the price you have to pay for being beautiful. The French have an old saying, Il faut souffrir pour etre belle. It means if you want beauty, you’re required to do a lot of suffering first.”

She bit her bottom lip and I watched her eyes do a few pirouettes, then she agreed to move ahead with the plan.

So I proceeded to make calls to spas, and salons, but much to our disappointment, not one had any available openings. The first step in the plan was about to be derailed, that is . . . until duct tape came to mind—I remembered seeing a roll of it in one of the kitchen drawers. At that moment I knew—I could save this make-over.

“Harriet, I have an idea.”

I quickly rummaged through a couple of drawers until I found the big, silver roll of four-inch wide duct tape, just sitting at the back of the drawer waiting to fulfill its alternate destiny— that of depilatoire.

Ripping off an eight-inch piece of tape as I approached Harriet, I could see signs of fear mounting in her multi-colored eyes as the silver flashed before her. She flinched at the sound, and a little moan escaped her lips, and then she said,

“Eeeeeeeeeee!”

“Harriet, this will only hurt for a while.” A long while, I said under my breath.

“Ellee, are you sure about this?” she asked with some trepidation.

“Harriet, do you want to be beautiful, or not ?”

She nodded her head yes, and then closed her eyes when I placed the tape across her mouth, chin and cheeks. But after I pressed the tape firmly in place, and jerked it off in one lightening-quick movement, her eyes flew open, and she blasted out a cry that made it all the way to Hoboken, and a passing ship in the harbor answered back with a, Buuuuuuuuu waaaaaaaaaaah.

The substitute depilatory was a monumental success! It took off not only the unwanted fur, but all those little red and brown gardening pots as well. Actually, it had made a clean sweep of everything it was stuck to. I continued tearing, sticking and ripping, one strip after another, applying it to every square inch of skin where fur was flourishing, until at last Harriet’s vestigial fur was a thing of the primal past, as was most of her skin. But, as I mentioned to her, while she was shouting obscenities at me, she would have paid a lot of money for a chemical peel at the salon. Plus, I told her it took fifty years off her age, one year for each layer of skin.

She calmed down after that and wanted to know what step two was. However, when I mentioned hair, she went ballistic and started with the obscenities again, adding a few she had left out before, plus several new ones I had never had occasion to hear. She told me no way was I touching her hair! She loved that hair and there was nothing wrong with it!!!!


All told, it took about an hour to convince her the entire mound would have to go, plus the color AND the style, because, I was quick to point out, the men at the bar would NOT find it alluring. That little word, alluring proved to be the deciding factor in the argument, because, above everything else, she wanted to be alluring so she could trap her man that very night.

It didn’t take long to dismantle the hair mound, once I tried the scissors from the junk drawer and found they wouldn’t cut, and then discovered an electric knife in another drawer. I quickly plugged it into an outlet, revved it up to make sure it worked and then beckoned Harriet to approach, which she did, but somewhat reticently. Once again, she asked me if I was sure, and once again I assured her, Il faut souffrir pour etre belle. And once again she submitted.

I carefully placed the serrated, double-bladed knife at the base of the red mound and pressed the button. Immediately the angry teeth sprang into action, sliding back and forth on each other at an incredible speed, waiting to devour anything they could get a hold of, and fortunately Harriet’s hair was within reach. As I moved the appliance across the base, it gnawed and cut its way through the thick red mat, like a determined Amazonian tour guide with a machete, clearing his way through the dense red jungle.

Within five short seconds the massive henna-red mound had been toppled, and Harriet set free from its unbelievable ugliness. Unfortunately, it’s mighty fall took a course directly past her eyes, causing her to gasp and choke as she tracked its journey to the floor.

With most of the hair gone, it was now a piece of cake to dye the remains, and style it with Andy’s blow dryer and a round brush, giving Harriet a more youthful style. Next came make-up which I used to hide, define, and accentuate anything which needed hiding, defining and accentuating, which was most of her face.

Then we turned our attention to her attire for the evening. That’s when she informed me it was Beach Night at the singles’ bar.

“Beach Night??? What does that mean, Harriet, Beach Night?”

“You know . . . beach ware. Everyone shows up in beach clothes. The bar has Beach Night every two weeks. It guarantees more dates for everybody.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, Ellee, that’s true!”

I took her word for it and we spent the rest of the day shopping for just the right beach attire. By late afternoon we were back at Andy’s, and after grabbing a bite to eat, Harriet put on her new clothes and I added the final touches to her make-over. When we had finished, she looked at me and asked,

“What do you think, Ellee . . .” she was turning herself every which way as she gazed into the mirror, “. . . do I look like you now?”

The image staring back was . . . was . . . Harriet’s. I truly hoped it wasn’t mine. Then she added, “Ellee, this is amazing . . . I look exactly like you!”

I choked and coughed, but knowing it would make her happy, I managed to say, “Harriet . . . it is more than amazing—you DO look exactly like me. See . . .” I pulled her to my side, “we are twins!”

She agreed, and threw her arms around me in a hug that all but took me out. The thanks you’s went on for another five minutes and then she said,

“Well, if I hurry I can make it for the opening. I don’t want to miss even one man that walks through those doors. I want to see them all. Ellee, wish me luck.”

I knew it would take more than luck, but I wished it anyway and she was off to the hunt.

[Author's Note: To view Harriet's make-over click on Harriet's mound of hair.



As she went out the door and closed it behind her, my mind immediately raced to the little box. I had managed to keep it at bay all day as I worked on Harriet, but now it rushed in to say, Hey! I’m still here, and you still haven’t opened me! I knew it had to be opened.

I walked back to the kitchen and sat down at the table. The box was on the other side, waiting for me, its iridescence still flashing, still bidding me to pick it up. So I took a deep breath and reached for . . . for my fate.

As I held the little box in my hands, I knew I had to face what lay ahead, yet I didn't rush to open it just yet. I turned it over and over in my hands, enjoying the play of colors. Finally I slipped my thumb under the back flap and slid it along the edge, hesitantly releasing the tape which kept everything sealed inside. Was I opening Pandora's Box, and once it was open, would I want to put it all back? I stopped then, and quickly pressed the tape down again, securing the status quo of my life. I set the package down, staring at it for a few seconds, then got up and walked over to the sink for a drink. I knew I was stalling.

After filling a glass, I turned around to lean back on the sink edge while I drank the cool water. Through the magnification of the glass bottom I could see the dynamic colors of that little box dancing even more frenetically. AND they were screaming at me to get over here and open the DANG box! What are you waiting for? Just do it!

I knew then the stalling was over. It was time to open the box. So, before I could lose my resolve I set the glass down, and ran to the table where I grabbed the box, and quickly tore off the paper and the lid.

My reaction to its contents was immediate, "Oh! Oh! Oh! There's no boot, no boot, no boot, NO BOOT," I sang for joy, dancing around the room with the little box clutched in my hand.

Finally I calmed myself enough to sit down and examine what was inside. It was marvelous to behold, and brought tears to my eyes. There, suspended in the middle of the box by a little gold chain, hooked to a metal frame, was a tiny Swarovski crystal globe, just like the one hanging in the window, only smaller. And at the moment the lid came off, a little light was activated to shine through the facets of the crystal sphere, unleashing tiny little rainbows all over inside the box. I giggled as I saw them dancing and flashing all their wonderful colors: reds, yellows, greens, blues—happy colors.

When I opened the card attached to the box, and saw Andy's handwriting, suddenly I felt warm inside and secure, but when I read his words . . . well my heart just sang. The card said simply,

Ellee, maybe you can catch a rainbow.

Bye for now,
Love,
Ellee