Spa Day Part I

 

[Picture of my daughters after they ran the Chicago Marathon a couple of days before I went to the Spa]

I'm writing this after the White Sox beat the Angels, although they sure didn't deserve to. This is going to make the Angels so mad they'll win the next three games. Watch. You saw it here first.

Before tonight's fiasco, everyone was talking about the White Sox losing the ballgame the night before. I don't think the Angels won it; I think the White Sox lost that first game with a bad throw to first, getting caught stealing twice, and a horrible display of bunting. Last night the Sox won on a bad, bad call.

On the morning of the night the umpire lost his mind, I was at my healthclub's spa getting a haircut from my crazy Armenian stylist, Nora, who was chattering about the new velour pants and jacket she got for twenty-five dollars at Burlington Coat Factory. I, however, was trying to talk to Anthony, the Italian bodybuilder stylist in the next chair about baseball -- specifically why I thought Garland should have started the series with the Angels, but there's this machismo thing with pitchers and Contreras had earned his chance even though, as a former pitcher myself, I could tell he was ripe for his team to lose it for him, blah blah blah.

Anyway, Pat Hughes comes in to get a haircut from Anthony while I'm getting a haircut from Nora.  Pat Hughes is the radio play by play guy for the CUBS on WGN's SUPERSTATION.  He's basically done for the year and probably wishes he was working the Sox games. Meanwhile, there's no way I was going to talk baseball with Pat Hughes -- have I mentioned he's a famous local radio play by play guy?  He'd probably think I was trying to hit on him, because I'm sure he thinks no woman would ever want to talk sports unless she had something else in mind.  

So now I have to talk with Nora about velour and do I want to go with her to get Botox injections next Monday at her plastic surgeon's office?  For $350 you can have enough injections to smooth your face into a baby's bottom. But then I hear you can't move anything, so nobody knows if you're smiling or not.  

Maybe in a couple of years.

At the same time, I'm trying to hear what Pat Hughes is saying to Anthony about the Sox game against the Angels, but he is talking very softly, in case somebody like me is listening and ready to tell the world what he is saying.  

Over the noise of the blow dryer, which Nora usually puts on the highest heat setting and then proceeds to hold against one of my ears so that the skin begins to melt, she leaned over and whispered a bit too loudly in her charming version of English, "You know, Pat Hughes vas MY customer. Anthony take him from me. I not steal someone's customer. But he steal from me. Take him away. POOF! I not do that to a person." I'm hoping she'll shut up soon so that Anthony doesn't come over and stab her with a pair of scissors, but between the noise of the hair dryer and the sudden shriek I emitted when my ear caught on fire, I don't think the guys heard too much of what she said.

As I watched her finish cutting and styling my do, I realized that even though I've never formally been introduced to Pat Hughes [the voice of the Chicago Cubs on WGN Radio, in case you missed it], I am almost related to his partner in the booth, Ron Santo, who played third base for the team and now does color commentary with Pat during the season.

Ron's wife went to Northwestern University around the same time I did.  And she was a sorority sister of one of the NU pom pom girls. This former NU pom pom girl is now my ex-husband's wife. So, that makes Pat Hughes practically family.

You live in a town long enough stuff like this happens.