The Makeover

"Huh?" I responded, looking up from the Sunday comics.

"It’s a makeover, like on Oprah," Aunt Toogie barked. "Although, in your case, I’d say it is more Extreme Makeover or Mission Impossible."

"Consider it an image update," Grace explained. "You know, starting fresh for the New Year." Then she put her hand on her hips. "Dalton, are you listening?"

I put my pen down and looked up again. I had been working the ‘Find Six Differences’ puzzle in the comics. "Yeah, I’m listening. I was just looking for the final clue. I always have trouble finding the last one."

"Did you get the clown’s tie?" Toogie piped up. "It has stripes in one picture and not in the other."

I looked down and muttered, "Oh, yeah," and then looked back toward Grace.

"I don’t know why that silly puzzle intrigues you every week," Grace declared.

"It exercises the old gray matter," I retorted. "Here, let me read you the Shylock Fox mystery."

"Never mind," Grace interrupted. "There is a reason that section is called ‘Comics for Kids.’ Sometimes I wonder if you will ever grow up!"

Grace didn’t see Toogie stick the tip of her tongue out at me. I was about to return the gesture when Grace continued. "Anyway, I’ve been thinking you need a new silhouette for your column."

"What’s wrong with the current one?" I asked.

"It just doesn’t look enough like you," Grace offered.

"It looks like a kid," Toogie chimed in.

"What’s wrong with that?"

"You’re old!" she shot back.

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"Both of you stop, please!" Grace interjected, trying to calm things down. "I just think a new silhouette would reflect your distinguished countenance."

"Translation: Old!" Toogie repeated, wiggling two fingers on each hand a la quotation marks.

"And, I’ve made an appointment to have it done the day after tomorrow," Grace announced in the special way she has for concluding a discussion.

On the appointed day and hour, Grace herded us into the car. Imagine my surprise when she parked in front of a children’s clothing store. You know, the place where all you hear is ‘cute, precious, and adorable.’

"Say it isn’t here," I moaned.

"Yes, it is," Grace declared. "A noted silhouette artist is here only today. Your appointment is in ten minutes."

"Don’t be afraid. Mommy and Granny will go with you," Toogie chuckled from the back seat.

Entering the store, I gazed around rapidly hoping not to recognize anyone. All the other patrons were young mothers with little children, dressed in finery, in tow. Not one of the kids was taller than my waist. As I approached the desk, one of the sales clerks offered her assistance. I explained we had the 2:15 silhouette time slot. The clerk then stood on her tiptoes and peered out and over the counter looking for someone younger and shorter.

"Is it your grandson or granddaughter?" she asked.

"No, it’s…ah…me," I whispered.

The corners of her mouth turned up. She tried to make it a smile, but I know it was a smirk.

A few minutes later, the artist called out, "Next child."

I stepped forward. He gave me an up and down look, accompanied by a faint smile, and waved me toward a chair with legs no more than a foot high. The chair was pink and had ‘Hello Kitty’ painted in white on the backrest. My knees touched my ears once I finally settled in the seat.

"Don’t worry," the artist said. "I can omit the knees."

I gave him my best faint smile in return. Grace smiled as if a proud parent. Standing next to Grace, Toogie stuck out her tongue. I was about to return that gesture when a small face appeared, at my eye level, blocking my view of Toogie. The face belonged to the previous occupant of the chair, a little boy around three years old. Pointing toward me, he turned to his mother, "What’s him doing?"

I was about to provide him a tutorial on pronouns when his mother reached out and grabbed his arm.

"He…he," she stammered pulling the kid to her side. I could tell she was grasping for a politically correct explanation. Finally, she blurted, "He has his turn now, Honey," and tugged the toddler down an aisle and out of view.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a minute or two, the artist announced, "There you go," and handed the finished silhouette to Grace.

She declared, "I like it. It is a great resemblance, Dear."

"Still not old enough, but closer," Toogie scoffed after her inspection.

I managed to make it upright from the chair, told the artist ‘Thanks’ in my deepest voice accompanied by a firm, manly handshake and headed straight for the car. Grace and Toogie paid for the silhouette and met me in the parking lot.

"Well, do you like it?" Grace inquired on the way home.

Several responses jumped instantly to mind. Yet, after a pause, I replied, "Yes, Dear."

"Right answer," Grace replied. "When we get home, I’ll make you a drink before dinner."

"How about hot cocoa," Toogie giggled from the back seat, "with baby marshmallows?"

I turned and stuck out my tongue.

"I see what you two are doing," Grace announced.

Then she patted my knee. "Now behave yourself and I’ll fix you a Perfect Manhattan."

Later, sipping the cocktail by the fireplace and soothing the emotional scars of the afternoon, I gazed at the new silhouette. Even though I liked the younger, boyish looking version, I concluded it would be okay to use the new one, especially if Grace favored it. But, did it really look like me? Time flies by in a blink, doesn’t it? Do you always imagine yourself younger than others see you? Is it true we define ‘middle age’ as our own age plus ten years? I pondered these thoughts and the mysteries of life, aging and mortality as the bourbon warmed my inner fire.

Toogie entered with a glass of her own favorite brew and announced, "Well, young man, it sounds as if you have been a really good boy today."

I glanced up from my musing.

"Grace says to get your coat. We’re going to a topless place for dinner."

"Really, she said that?" I asked incredulously.

"Heard it with my own ears," Toogie replied emphatically.

I stood up, nearly spilling my cocktail, and walked into the kitchen, Toogie on my heels.

"We’re going to a topless place?" I blurted out.

"Oh, good heavens," Grace sighed. "You know very well we’re going to a tapas restaurant."

I pointed toward Toogie, who turned away as if she were never a part of the conversation.

"I wish you would act your age," Grace scolded. "It’s not too late to grow up, you know!" she added walking toward the hall closet to get her coat.

I looked, again, at Toogie. She just shrugged her shoulders.

"I could have used some help there. Don’t you have something to say?"

Toogie put her forefinger on her chin, looked skyward, and gave me a smirky smile. "Okay. Keep your mitts off the comics and let me have first crack at the Sunday puzzles."