107 Blonde Lining
Here in the new digs, we long have believed that the neighborhood is redlined and devoted largely to minorities from the Indian subcontinent and from
But the particular block on which the Wessays Secret Mountain Laboratory (as opposed to our former Secret Seaside Laboratory) sits, the block has been Blonde Lined.
The local real estate brokers must be segregating blonde women between 20 something and 40 something on this tract. Almost every house has at least one. Some have two (usually mother and daughter.)
Since we have not been able to observe any of these people close at hand, there’s no way to determine (yet) whether they are the “traditional” blondes, ditzes and dingbats with no brains, no vocabulary and no saving graces save for their hair or whether they are just women who are blonde.
There isn’t even a way to tell whether their blondness comes out of the gene pool or the Clairol bottle.
And they all have dogs. Some teeny tiny ones, some big and fierce looking. And soon, those who don’t have children, will. This block will be larded with kiddies within the next few years.
And probably, the larger dogs will have to find new homes.
Neither the dogs nor the children have anything direct to do with blondness. But they are worth noting because as blondes change a neighborhood, so do children.
End of digression.
Many of the real estate brokers are women and many in that subset are blondes. So maybe it’s a matter of like attracts like. Unconscious steering of similar people.
But let’s assume the worst (it never hurts to assume the worst.) They’re trying to blond-ize the entire neighborhood.
And lets assume THIS worst: the blondes are not JUST blonde-haired people but are Dumb Blondes.
It’s probably part of a conspiracy to isolate ditzes, dingbats and dummies. It’s a way to keep all the above away from the “regular” people.
There goes the neighborhood.
This is a horrible fate.
Surrounded by all this is a terrible distraction.
And it affects property values.
It ruins concentration.
It leads to overpopulation, strained municipal and educational resources.
Probably going to be a contest as soon as the first one comes out the door in the morning and instead of lighting up her breakfast cigarette, heaves into the storm drain, demonstrating to the rest of us that she has morning sickness. That’s how baby-making fads start.
Now, what about the guys.
Each of them appears to be an ordinary dufuss.
Some of them are invisible. Some are part time vistors, some are “always” there. It’s no easier to tell anything about them than it is their blonde wives/housemates/girlfriends.
All of them have too many cars.
Two drivers, six cars.
One driver, three cars.
Maybe they’re collectors.
Or maybe they need a special car in which the dog is allowed to ride, and another from which the dog is barred.
One thing’s for sure – and this is almost as good a sign of population explosion as swapping the cigarette for hurling into the storm drain:
You know there’s a baby on the way when one of the cars gets traded for an SUV or one of the SUVs gets traded for a minivan.
I'm Wes Richards, my opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.
(c) 2006 WJR