It has been a frustrating month, what with disappearing editors and gigs that slink out of town in the middle of the night. At times I have looked at the multi-pierced barista at the local Barnesbucks and wondered if her nonchalant incompetence is actually a sign of superior intelligence.
But then I am granted a small sign or two. Case in point: yesterday, after a meeting that left me reeling, I stopped by a couple of nail salons to deliver the latest issue of Nails Magazine. The salons had been sources for my article, The One Hour Princess (on profitable pedicures) and I thought they might like to see the piece. (It's here if you're so inclined.)
Got to the first salon, and there was my article, blown up into a giant poster in the front window. The counter was covered with copies. On to the second salon, where the owner threw me into a chair and got teary eyed as she described reading the issue she got in the mail. Apparently she didn't quite understand why I was asking all those questions or taking photos a few months back, but there she was. "It was a dream come true," she sighed, and chased me out to the car to hug me.
Better than a hot stone therapy massage with extra reflexology.