Yesterday I got the message.
Today I got the call.
I’d been waiting for this call, wondering about it. The available Spring home shows. My assignment. My duty.
“…nine days selling the Silk Blanket. Not a very good show though…no expenses*…a few weekend shows in your area…we’re putting the Sponge into those…”
Now, I love the Silk Blanket. It’s like sleeping on a cloud! Warm in the winter, cool in the summer. But it has stiff competition in the Pacific Northwest–another blanket booth. Another silk blanket booth. We discuss it and decide it might be better to put in the Sponge instead. I’m better than that girl they had doing it last year, so even though the show’s not so great, the money should be better. Of course the Super Chamois will be there. (Parts 2 , 3.) It always is.
Now, truth be told, I’ve missed the Super Sponge. Even the blue ones. The twelve hour work day**, strange life-out-of-a-suitcase-urban-camping experience. They’re so absorbant, and I’m so prepared. I have an electronic tea kettle for brewing at the booth and a cooler for my kombucha. I have batteries for my very own microphone and Ginkgo Royal Jelly energy pills.
Rejoicing in the prospect of delivering my sponge demo ad infinitum for at least a few days next year, I rehearsed it along my way to work–straight to work but jabbering like a loony. “Try a hot one on your face, it feels incredible!*” It was a good practice as I was damn rusty. But not nearly as bad as the other day when I tried my LL Cool J rap in the shower. That shit was pathetic.
Yes, 2006 Spring Home Fairs, I’ll be there. I need a vacuum, and there’s always the lure of the Euro Steam. It turns out my current boss is a brunette with a blonde streak or two.***