You Can't Make This Stuff Up

I decided I've had enough of bad hair days so I hauled my arse to the beauty shop with the expectation of a miracle. The very pregnant hairdresser next to me started talking about the girlbaby sloshing about in her amniotic fluid. The conversation then turned to her apartment, her impending marriage, her show. Excuse me if I interrupt... a show? What show?

"Jerseylicious!" she said. "I'm Doria. Have you seen it?"

Not wanting to be rude, I said no. I have seen it, it's another strange take on big hair Jersey Girl brawlers, of which I am not. I have skinny hair and manners. Mostly.

I really jumped into the water at that point and asked how one gets chosen for such a show. I'm not an expert, perhaps she submitted a script, she has a friend, a relative... my thoughts trailed off into space. I was thinking I wanted a show to call my very own.

She said there was an audition and she's in her third season but she doesn't make as much per episode as "Teen Moms." I filled the obvious void since she left the gate wide open. "How much do "Teen Moms" make?"

After hearing the figure, I couldn't help but blurt "Do you think they'd make a show about geeky, kinda crazy, artistic grandmother types?"

"Oh yeah!" said the guy whose hair was being cut by Doria. "As long as you're Italian."

I could hear the reeds playing a sweet Celtic melody, so off I went to find them.