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WENDY JO'S WACKY WEDNESDAY (1588 Word Count) (standard:humor, 1582 words)
Author: Rosie JayAdded: Oct 02 2006Views/Reads: 1893/1125Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Wendy Jo gives one hilarious account about what happened to her the day she pretended to be who she wasn't. Funny Stuff.
 



WENDY JO’S WACKY WEDNESDAY 

By Rosie Jay 

My name is Wendy Jo Baker, and even though I'm the tallest ninth-grader
at Clemson High, I'm just a regular kid with regular folks and a 
regular mutt named Charlie.  The only thing is, I got myself into a 
“real doozy of a fix,” my Aunt Minerva calls it, and she says there was 
nothing "regular kid" about it. 

Oh, Aunt Minerva lives in our upstairs flat.  She also owns the beauty
shop on the corner of Maple and Third. 

On that awful Wednesday, there was an afternoon teachers' meeting, so
school let out about noon.  I headed to the shop and Aunt Minerva was 
just closing up, surprised to see me. 

"Why, Wendy Jo," she said, "I'm just on my way to a city council meeting
to discuss the new parking meter problem.”  I wasn't sur¬prised.  Aunt 
Minerva's customers had been getting mighty cranky about those meters! 

"But say," she went on, "since you're here, how about staying to take
some appoint¬ment calls?  I should be back no later than two-thirty." 

For a while I'd been helping Aunt Minerva after school, just cleaning up
and answering the phone.  "Sure enough," I replied.  What could go 
wrong? 

Well, sure, nothing at first.  I locked the door, ate my lunch, and took
two appointment calls and one cancellation.  But after that there was 
nothing else to do, so I started flipping through some beauty magazines 
stashed in the corner. 

I think that's when I got this dumb idea.  Like, I'm in a beauty shop,
right?  Why not jazz myself up?  So, with a ton of hairpins and two 
flowered combs, I piled my hair on top my head in this fancy do.  Wow!  
I definitely looked older—like, hey, eighteen maybe?  Then I got 
excited, going even further.  I took some makeup from the cosmetic 
counter and sloshed on some of that.  Right then I should have 
stopped—but I didn't.  I put on Aunt Minerva's pink smock.  Yep, I 
looked real...what’s that word?...oh yeah, bona fide! 

It was two o'clock when the knock at the door came.  Yikes, I had to
look twice!  It was that Beatrice Pennywell, of all people, the 
daughter of our local bank presi¬dent. 

Well, believe me, everybody in this town knows who the Pen¬nywells are,
including me.  I knew that Beatrice was really shy, for instance, and 
kind of plain looking.  I wasn't sure I believed the part about her 
never having a boyfriend though.  She was almost thirty, for pete's 
sake! 

“Please, open up,” she begged, looking as anxious as Charlie when he
needs to go out. 

“Uh...the shop will be open around two-thirty,” I answered real
polite-like.  But I wondered.  What was Malcolm Pennywell’s daughter 
doing at Aunt Minerva’s beauty shop anyway?  What happened to Francois, 
her fancy hairdresser way uptown? 

But Beatrice wouldn't budge, like she was glued to the sidewalk. 

Then I actually did it.  I opened the door, just a tad. 

Boy, it was like a blast of wind!  Beatrice scrunched herself through,
yakking a mile a minute.  "Ooh, silly me.  I should have called, but I 
do hope you can help me.  Francois is out of town!” 

I was speechless. 

"I want to be a blonde!" she declared, "and I see this place all the
time from across the street.”  She stopped, right then, grinning like 
she had this big secret.  “There’s a dinner party tonight. I want to 
surprise EVERYONE!” 



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