We're back from the beach. Exhausted. A little lighter in the wallet. But we had a great time, even though the weather failed to cooperate. Imagine three fifteen-story towers' worth of people trying to cram into the hotel's sole indoor swimming pool. So we ended up doing a lot of touristy stuff like shopping.
Zoey spotted it first. Next door to throngs of fortysomething men posing next to the twenty-foot Gene Simmons demon boot outside the Kiss Coffeehouse stood the store that puts fear into the hearts of men everywhere: Club Libby Lu.
Club Libby Lu, for those of you lucky enough to have no idea what I'm talking about, is a place where young girls can get makeovers. "MOMMY!!! CAN WE GO THERE?" Zoey screamed loud enough that sixteen moms looked in her direction.
When we walked in the door, our senses were immediately assaulted. There was a woman standing by the door waiting to shower the girls with fairy dust (glitter) while the girls made a wish. They covered Zed with glitter too. He coughed, gave the Glitter Lady a look, and probably wished he was somewhere else.
I know I did.
Loud techno versions of hit songs by Gwen Stefani and other acts popular with the 4-12 female set blasted over the sound system. They also played selections from what I believe was High School Musical because everyone in the joint was singing along to the songs (except us) and they were selling copies of the soundtrack everywhere you turned.
And of course, the place was colored cotton-candy pink.
Between the fairy dust, techno girl music, and pink décor, I could feel my testicles crawl up into my abdomen. My breasts may have gotten larger too.
The first thing Zoey did was choose which makeover she wanted. She could choose from Secret Celebrity Hannah Montana (which wasn't much of a secret as it was plastered all over the place), Trend Setter, Makeover Cinderella, Rock Princess, or Dance Diva. She chose the Rock Princess makeover mainly because it came with a imitation wireless mic headset. We were told it would be a twenty minute wait to meet Zoey's stylist. But at least it beat the seventeen-hour wait at Build-A-Bear!
The stylist applied Zoey's nail polish first. Then she put pink eye shadow on my four-year-old daughter's virginal eyelids. I immediately started foaming at the mouth like Rev. John Lithgow in an anti-Revlon version of Footloose.
"Did you know they were going to put eye shadow on Zoey?" I bellowed at Ella. She ignored me.
Her stylist then put lip gloss on Zoey's lips. I started to object but knew Ella would ignore me yet again, so I chose to gnash my teeth in silent protest.
Then the stylist did her hair. They put it up in a bun with little twists around it so there were sprigs of hair sticking out in every direction. When the stylist was finally finished, Zoey looked like a preschool prostitute one of those scary pageant girls a Rock Princess. She was happy. And therefore, so was I.
But Zed and I still went to Hooter's for dinner that night to cleanse ourselves. And to search for our testicles.
Song of the day: Dreaming by Blondie
The Day My Testicles Disappeared
