These Are the Good Ole Days No. One

Back in the spring, I told you about my valentine to small town life: I’m going to write about what makes small town life worth it, when there's one grocery store in town and no pizza deliery and it doesn't matter. It will be a series of observations along the lines of those about the Vaiden Truck Stop and the Varsity. It should be fun, from right here in my own small town.

This is the first one:

I was at the local salon, what our mothers call the beauty shop. I a couple of hours I was having photos taken in my wedding dress; you may remember the saga.

I’ve been coming to this place for about a year. Tiffany is young and pretty, and I just know she plays in the floor with her one-year-old son when she gets home from work.

She was asking how The Child was, and what time of day the wedding was, chatting. It had been mild and overcast when I pulled up in front of the shop that is in a converted train depot. As she worked and we talked, the sky outside darkened and sheets of rain began pounding down.

“Oh, no!” I said. I told her I didn’t bring my umbrella inside. She said, “I have one in the car – I can run get it before you leave.”

Thank goodness. I thanked her and then I had a thought. “I hope I didn’t leave my windows down.” We turned to look out the big plate glass window, which my car was parked directly in front of. The windows were down about two inches. It was pouring down rain; it was hard to see even across the street. Tiffany grabbed my keys, ran to her car, got her umbrella, ran to my car, unlocked the doors, got in, rolled up the windows, and dashed inside. She was soaked.

She set her umbrella down, picked the curling iron up, and went back to work. She brushed away my thank yous and continued chatting.

Service.