In the beauty parlor business appearances are everything. If the parlor was old and shabby, with dull worn out tile floors, inadequate lighting, cracked mirrors and pictures of women on the walls with hairstyles that were popular in 1978, then fuggedaboutit. You might as well hang a sign in the window advertising " Free Anthrax germs", 'cause baby ain't nobody comin' in. A parlor like that, might well as close. 'Cause Honey it's already dead. Nobody and I mean nobody want to have their hair done in a run down place like that.

The same holds true as rain if the propriotress of the parlor is an aging, blue-haired, seen-better-days-in-the-rear-view-mirror, former beauty queen from 1962. Going to a beauty parlor like that is like going to see a man without a wrench to fix your kitchen sink. It just don't seem right.

That, my dear worthless friends was my very situation a couple of days ago. And let me tell you, Shelly Krazanowski wasn't about to give up the ghost so easily. I been through worse, let me tell ya. So I take some smelly, slimy, Godawful drink that a friend gave me. Tasted Like Co' Cola and vinegar laced with poison. I drunk it right down, tho' I near wanted to puke it right back up, right onto these Godawful puke green walls. But I done it. Like my Papa always said swallow what's given to ya.

Well as soon as I done that, I start feelin' all dizzy and discom-bob-utated like being on a carny ride that's broke down right in the middle of the ride or inside a pinball machine and you's the little metal ball or somethin'. My head turned all inside out and my lunch starts to revisit my throat. I see some of the strangest things before my eyes, such as I can't explain to ya. I must've been hallu-ca-natin' or somethin'. 'Cause Lord-all-mighty if such things exist than God don't, like me tell ya. Then I feel as if I been thrown up into the air and then thrown down agin. I fall onto my rump and Lordhelpme, pee my drawers. Ever'thin' seems so big. Over sized ya know? I look around me and find myself lookin' up and up at stuff I shouldn't be lookin' up at, even seein' as I was on the floor. Ya know what I'm sayin'? Lordhelpmejesus I was smaller. Not jus' a little smaller I mean really smaller, like baby size, ya know? I couldn't believe it. I looked at my hands and my lord they was so itsy bitsy small I could'nt help but laugh out loud. Then I decided to check myself out in one of my cracked mirrors, just to prove to myself that I was wrong. I mean, come on, you expect me to believe that after one lousy drink, now I'm a diaper bunny? What do I look like a Godless fool to ya? So I crawled my way as slowly as a slinky goes up stairs, over to one of my beauty chairs and pull myself up standin'. I tried to walk, but I kept fallin' down. Then with a great deal of effort I climbed into the chair and plopped down on my well endowed rump. Darn it all wouldn't ya know it, I couldn't see. So I stand up on the seat of the chair and now I can see the mirror and I can see me. I nearly crack my head open on the floor with shock, 'cause I am Lordhelpme, a full blown, state certified diaper bunny. I'm even wearing some diapers and not much else to prove it. I almost shit my drawers.

So now, since no one can help me and as my Papa always said, "The Lord only helps those who help themselves.", ain't that the truth, I'm going to reopen my Parlor. I can't style hair anymore but my daughter will do that along with Ruthanne, Shanna and Tiffany. I guess my only job is to be some sorta mascot for the Parlor, attract paying customers, by bein' beautiful an' cute. That's why right now I'm tryin' to paint my toenails. But darnit all I can't get the polish on my nails I keep paintin' my feet instead. I hate bein' so small.

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