Poser
I wanted to wear my utilikilt on my Avon travels yesterday, but after a long search I found it in Frankie's Corner - the space below the hanging coats in the front closet. He drags the dog's rawhide bones, assorted Star Trek toys, dirty clothes - pretty much anything he thinks someone likes - to his den, curls up and rests, licks them over and over like room temperature lollipops. My kilt smelled like pig, one side sticky and wet from Frankie's tongue. Gross. No kilt for me. I put on the plaid seersucker shorts with the multiple pockets instead, looked with satisfaction in the mirror at the black long-sleeved t-shirt with the Avon Mark logo in lipstick across the bosom over shorts over tanned legs over new Avon neon green terry flip-flops.
I stuffed my backpack, too, performing some near-ancient ritual almost forgotten, brochures in the main body of the bag, samples up front, demo tube of Silicon Glove hand cream in my back shorts pocket, demo spray bottle of Tomorrow perfume next to my right thigh. I tried to stuff thirty small baggies of homemade caramel corn in the backpack, too, but they didn't fit so I grabbed a random Avon purse and filled it to capacity. Each bag held a good cup and a half of sugary macadamia nut goodness plus a frilly note on rainbow paper: "I'm Nuts, but I'm Still Your Avon Lady." One bag held a secret note: 20 percent off your next Avon purchase!
I wasn't sure which way to point when I stood at the edge of my driveway, fifty pounds of Avon on my back, purse dangling from my right elbow. Who have I alienated the least over the past four months, I wondered. Everybody. Crap. Well, here's to new beginnings! I marched down my street, hooked a right at the corner and headed for the arid neighborhood where Popcorn Woman lives.
The eucalyptus and queen palms of my sector of town gave way to sparser ground cover bowing low below the forty foot tall desert palms standing in a row at the top of the fifth hill I climbed. The backpack clung to my shirt like a sweaty plunger, and I took a break under a bottle brush tree, feeling the soft fuzzy flowers with both hands. Geeze, it's hot. I removed the backpack, pulled the long-sleeved shirt over my head to reveal a tank top with crisp blue piping around the collar. Ah, sweet relief. I glanced down to pull the shirt over my midriff and realized it was striped. Stripes and plaid. Great. I tied my black shirt to the handles of the purse and headed straight for Popcorn Woman's house.
I saw her before she noticed me. She sat on a white plastic chair under the shade of a scrawny pine. She wore cut-off jeans and a Padres t-shirt. She looked too clean. The shorts and T-shirt sparkled, looked pristine and unwrinkled. Her hair sparkled, too, all tasteful blonde bob perfectly sleek, razor sharp. I waved as she saw me turn onto her brick walkway, and I gave a Yoo Hoo, Avon Calling in my best salesy voice.
"And for you! Popcorn!" I reached my left arm into the purse, pulled out the top bag in a dramatic arc, and reached my hand out to her, but she didn't take the bait.
"What the hell are you gibbering about?" Her voice was sharp like her hair, full of angle and anger and a bit of mean. "I don't want that."
"Um, sorry. I thought you were looking for popcorn and Avon doesn't sell popcorn and I make awesome caramel corn with homegrown organic macadamia nuts and really I made it all special for you as a conciliatory gesture..."
She cut off my rambling with the fire of her mouth. "What the hell is wrong with you. Look at you. You don't look like an Avon Lady." I glanced down at my mismatched clothes and flip-flops and noticed I must have stepped in a bit of mud.
"Yeah, well, I think Avon Ladies come in all shapes and colors." I placed the popcorn back in my purse and set it on the ground. I dumped my backpack, too, and knelt on the hard ground. I unzipped the pack, removing a brochure and a few samples of skin care. "Here you go. The latest brochure. And some samples. I don't know where the popcorn is, maybe you could look through the book and see if there's anything you want." I reached into my front shorts pocket and pulled out the Tomorrow. "Care for a spritz of our latest fragrance, Tomorrow?"
"Why would I want a spritz tomorrow? There's something wrong with you." She took the book and samples and stood, turned, walked toward her front door, didn't pause at all, kept walking until she opened and then shut the door behind her. I stood on the lawn for a long time, kept staring at the carved wooden frame of her door.
What the hell am I anyway? I didn't blink, kept looking at her door. What's wrong with me? She's right. There's something wrong with me. I don't look like an Avon Lady. Maybe I'm not serious enough. Or normal enough. Where'd all the fun people go? Am I supposed to grow up now that I'm almost 40? What the fuck.
I finally blinked, gathered my stuff together, continued door to door, leaving popcorn and books and samples in neat piles at each residence. I didn't knock on doors, didn't have it in me.
9:00:24 AM 
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