Unbagging the Cats 1

Unbagging the Cats 1

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

The Washing of Warshene

Allow me to introduce you to my new odd acquaintance, Warshene.

Warshene was spied Tuesday morning, hanging around the USA Drug establishment where Val takes care of her prescription transactions.

First, a little background to set the stage. I had prepared a delicious pot roast with Klondike Rose potatoes, sweet baby carrots, and yellow onions for our Monday night supper. We had enough left for Tuesday night, and some to spare. I called my mom and offered her a hefty helping. She agreed to meet me midway to her home. We settled on the parking lot of USA Drug, since I was picking up prescriptions anyway.

I normally park in front of the store. When Mom meets me there, she parks in front, also. Yet when I tooled through the stop light, I did not see any cars parked in front. That means that three handicapped and three regular spaces were all empty. Mom was parked a row over, on the adjoining lot of The Dollar Tree. It did not take her long to explain why.

"See that girl? I was conly afraid to park over there. She's been walking back and forth. I'm not sure what she's doing. So I stayed away."

Oh. Conly is my mom's contraction for kind of. Maybe it's a hillbilly thing. Maybe it's a Missouri thing. I don't know anyone else who uses it, but Mom has all her life.

I sized up Warshene. She was a full-figured gal, probably late teens or early twenties. Not fat, but stout. She was wearing a tank top or tank bathing suit, maroon in color. Around her waist was what looked like a multi-colored sarong, with a v-slit on the left thigh that revealed a pair of black shorts with a thin white stripe. Perhaps not such remarkable garb for an outing here in Backroads. It was her accessory that had us head-scratching.

Warshene stood beside a five-gallon, cream-colored bucket of sudsy water. Since groups have been known to hold car-washing fundraisers at this location, I asked my mom, "So, they're having a car wash?"

"I don't think so. I've been here for about fifteen minutes, and she's the only one. She was here when I got here. And she's been washing HERSELF with that bucket of water." Note that my mom (and 99.9 percent of the folks in these parts) pronounce it warsh.

Well now. That's a bit out of the ordinary, even here in Backroads. There were no signs about a car wash. Only Warshene and her bucket. I gave mom her meal from my wheels. "I don't want to walk all the way across there with her looking at me. But I don't want to park over there, either."

"Oh, I don't think she's going to do anything."

"Yeah. It's not like she's going to wash me, I guess. I'll go around behind the car."

I pulled over to park in front of USA Drug. I got out my bank card. I opened the door, which blocked her view of me. Then I turned my back on Warshene and went behind my Tahoe instead of up on the sidewalk by Warshene to enter the front door. I could feel her eyes on me. Undressing me, perhaps, and sudsing me down, and then redressing me in a swimsuit and sarong. When I came out, I followed the same route. Once inside the car, I sensed her walking toward me. But I refused to look, and she stopped.

Dang! All I need is Nub in a Radio Flyer. There might be a story here.

5 comments:

knancy said...

Warshene? New dictionary entry! Good god woman, your stories are amazing. I will be trying to visualize this for awhile - and I live in West,by god, Virginia! Mothman is common here.

Sioux said...

You missed a wonderful writer's moment. You could have interviewed her and gotten an incredible character sketch.

So, go back to USA Drug. Stand there on the sidewalk for a while; hold a bottle of liquid dish soap in your hands and wave it around. If she doesn't show up--drawn like a moth to a flame--ramp it up...

Put on a teacher's jumper. I know you have one--denim, perhaps, with chalkboards and apples appliqued on it. After all, Warshene had on her native costume...you should,too. Make some sudsy water and apply the bubbly mixture to various spots on you--you pick 'em--and see if she shows up. If not, make yourself even more irresistable.

In your teacher togs and some suds adorning you, start blowing bubbles (you can probably buy a bottle of bubbles and a bubble wand from the drug store)and then run around, so that the bubbles pop onto you. The aroma of soapy bubbles, and the sight of those shimmery soap bubbles...they're sure to attract her.

And two benefits will come from this: no only will you be able to lure Warshene (and now you can write a feature piece on her) but USA Drug will soooo appreciate the free advertising they will receive. You in front of their shop means they don't have to pay for a guy to dress up as Uncle Sam or a gorilla, nor do they have to pay for those wiggly and wavy "Windsock People" to attract crowds of people.

Good luck of finding Warshene again.

Sioux said...

Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!

I just thought of a song you could sing. I only have part of the refrain, but Dolly Parton has the melody.

Warshene,
Warshene,
Warshene,
Warsheeeeene.
Please,
Don't you take all the soap.

Tammy said...

Is this a (fail) fundraising idea or something? Drive-through body wash?

Val said...

knancy,
I'm hoping that Mothman does not wash himself out of a bucket on the sidewalk in front of the drugstore. Because that would be all kinds of wrong.

****************
Sioux,
You need your own show on TLC. Too bad you don't have a satellite to watch yourself. You could be like Billy the Exterminator on A&E. You know too much about how to bait a trap for Warshene.

Far be it from me to take food out of the mouth of a Statue of Liberty. And I simply adore the windsock people. They are mesmerizing, like outdoor lava lamps.

Maybe Warshene and I could perform a duet, like Dolly and Kenny. Instead of Islands in the Stream, we could sing Sponges in the Bucket.

************
Tammy,
I don't even know if Warshene was seeking funds. Though I'm sure some folks around here would pay to see her wash herself.