Close Encounters With Scary Blondes

I promise I'll explain the scary part in a minute. It's not frightening a la Sarah Palin, though. That woman makes me want to cry and hide under my mother's skirts, wherever in the Universe that beautiful creature may be at this point. I hope American voters have sense enough to send her packing back to Alaska where she can sit at the window and watch for any island-hopping Russians. But first I must tell you that I've been riding the buses in Miami again; if you're following this blog you already are aware of what happens to me when I take public transportation in this slice of Paradise. Like this afternoon: I sit down and immediately am assaulted by a tiny old lady in drugstore-style shoes waving a Jehovah's Witness Atalaya in my face: Habla Spanish? Habla Spanish? Yikes!!

I met the first blonde on the flight from Rio. I swear I listened to every word she said, while my eyes were riveted by artificial nails with a French manicure and a mouth exactly like the Marilyn lips sofa. She was a nice, friendly, well-meaning lady, but when she got to the part where she attended the Landmark Institute, I shuddered. You see, I'm allergic to self-help-whatever. It's usually really, really good for the person telling you what to do with your life, I don't doubt that. They're not the ones wasting precious dollars on books and seminars.

I ran across the second blonde on the bus to South Beach. The exact opposite: overweight, barely able to walk, I held her hand and helped her sit down. She then launched into a long tale of woes that included stomach surgery to lose a couple of hundred pounds, diabetes, and some awful degenerative disease; she was on her way to a public clinic. Oh, to be reminded of obesity and other ills endemic to this country as we crossed bridges over such blue water under azure Miami skies!

Maybe at this point I don't need to explain why two such dissimilar women put the fear of God into me? And perhaps it might have been a good idea to accept the brochure offered me? Or is it just time to fly back to the country where assistance for self-defeating beliefs still may come in the shape of a figa or throwing white flowers into the sea? And tell everyone to keep eating the fruit and walk right past Burger King?