Moving into Long Pants
Afternoon banter down at Jolene’s Beauty and Boutique had swung over to the upcoming library bond end of this April, as contentious an issue as gay marriage had been last month, with pretty much the same sides lining up for or against. Ronald, never one to let a debating opportunity slide by any more than a juicy gossip tidbit, started the whole shooting match by announcing he, for one, would vote yes and “anyone who wouldn’t must be,” he said snappishly in mid-scissor, “an illiterate elitist.”
Well, Martha Figgelstein lit up like a Christmas tree at Hannukah, let me tell you. “If I wanted a book, Ronald, I can just drive a little further to Stanwoodopolis … and you can too. Save us a fortune in unnecessary taxes.” Before Ronald could tell Martha the likelihood of her checking out a book, much less reading one, was as plausible as growing that thinning blue hair back you’re shedding, darling, Jolene shot him a glance from two chairs down, nearly shorting out the dryer on Mrs. Webster’s perm. “And if you can’t afford the extra gas, Ronald,” Martha sniffed, “you can take the free bus I pay too much in taxes for too.”
Sheila, streaking Jenny Fletcher’s already magenta hair to make a virtual green contrasting Mohawk down the middle, opined that her daughters loved that library and if it closed for good if the bond was defeated, they’d be heartbroken. “Oh, they’ll survive just fine, Sheila,” Martha sniped as Ronald snipped. “Let them eat cake,” he snorted, not glancing in Jolene’s direction.
“Why do we need a library anyway?” Mrs. Webster muttered from under her dryer, looking like an astronaut on a spacewalk. “Everyone has a computer now. Everything I need is on the internet. Waste of good money, you ask me, to buy a building and stuff it with books that are obsolete.” Steam poured out Ronald’s ears and through the half dozen rings lined up on the lobes, but Jolene, ever the diplomat and peacekeeper, said she remembered when the island didn’t have a real grocery store or a pharmacy or schools, no health clinic or paid firemen or even a deputy on duty after midnight. “We’re grown up now. We’re our own place. Might be time we got our own library too, I think,” she said and Ronald clapped his hands, nearly gouging himself with the scissors.
If the Beauty and Boutique is any preliminary poll, this will be a close vote. Ronald says he’ll move away if the bond loses, but no one believes him. Although, it may cost Jolene a hefty raise to keep him.
Hits: 17