Not so Charming

“Girls, I have great news!” Mrs. Harris, the Girl Scout leader, tucked a lock of hair that had escaped from her tight curls into place. “Younkers is running a Charm School to celebrate the start of a new decade, and our troop will be participating!”

A hand waved in the air. “What’s a decade?”

Mrs. Harris opened her mouth to answer, but her daughter Denise was faster.

“Ten years. It’s 1970 now. Although technically, the new decade begins next year. That’s because there wasn’t a year zero.”

Carrie, who was 11, and her best friend Lisa exchanged glances. Denise loved to share esoteric facts almost as much as she enjoyed big words. People at school viewed her as rather eccentric. Carrie enjoyed that Denise, with her wildly curly blond hair, clumsiness, and incredible ability to laugh at herself, was entirely without pretense.

Lisa, the gentle peacemaker of the group, nodded. “I didn’t know that.”

Meanwhile, Carrie was onto a different subject. “Umm, Mrs. Harris, what’s charm school? It’s summer. I don’t want to go to school.”

“Oh, you’ll love it. It’s where you learn to be charming. You’ll be instructed in manners, standing and sitting gracefully, wearing make-up, and even walking.”

Carrie’s blue eyes rested on Mrs. Harris’ bright orange lipstick. She wasn’t convinced that wearing make-up always made a person charming, but hopefully, the Charm School teacher would advise them on color choice. And, learning to be graceful might be fun.

Lisa leaned over and whispered in Carrie’s ear. “It sounds like the lessons will be similar to those given to girls who are training to be models. That could be good for us.”

Carrie and Lisa wanted to become ballerinas. They had lessons twice a week and rehearsals with the local ballet company every weekend. Carrie nodded. Lisa was right. Perhaps something of what they learned would prove helpful.

After school the next day, Carrie, Lisa, and Denise chattered like a pack of monkeys while walking home.

“Are you going to sign up, Lisa?” asked Carrie.

“Yeah, my mom is always telling me to sit and stand like a lady. She’ll make me.”

Denise swung around and walked backwards in front of her friends. “I guess I’ll go since Mom is the pack leader.”

Carrie held her breath, waiting to see if Denise would fall over a crack in the sidewalk. When she didn’t, Carrie answered. “I’ll go, too. Mom probably won’t let me wear make-up, but I’m sure she’d like me to learn American manners. Maybe I can teach my family. Dad makes us use Dutch table manners, but that’s not what you do here. I hope they’ll tell us that it’s not rude to chew gum, and I’ll be allowed to do it…”

Lisa took a piece of gum from her pocket, tore it in two, and gave half to Carrie. “Spit it out before you get home,” she whispered.

***

It was the first day of Charm School. A sweaty pile of girls fell out of Mrs. Harris’s station wagon. The trip to downtown Des Moines, while crammed into the cargo area, where Lisa, Carrie, and Denise sat, was so, so hot. The other girls in the troop had claimed the back seat, which wasn’t much better. At least, they’d all been distracted by a tape of The Monkeys. Belting out Daydream Believer and I’m Not Your Stepping Stone was a blast.

After they followed Mrs. Harris up several flights of stairs and down a hallway, the girls found themselves in a room that was positively bulging with people. Carrie, who didn’t like crowds, edged to the wall, taking Lisa with her, while Denise strode in fearlessly.

A tall woman, wearing a brown midi skirt, a starched white blouse, a brown blazer, and an orange and yellow tie, came forward. Her auburn hair was glued in place lest a strand dare escape. “Girls, please be quiet.” She waited for a moment. “Now, come forward, one at a time, to receive your binder. Once you have it, take a seat.”

Holding the binder under one arm, Carrie grabbed Lisa’s hand and pulled her over to sit next to her. She scowled at the pink three-ring binder that said “Younkers Charm School” on the front. It was filled with hole-punched papers that were separated by tabs. The contents of the binder sure looked like homework!

Once everyone had one, the tall woman stalked to the front of the room and lifted a manicured finger. The room grew silent.

“Good Afternoon, ladies. My name is Mrs. Johnson. Open your binder and write your name on the front page. Inside, you’ll see sections which correspond to each of our meetings. Every tab marks a homework assignment that matches a specific session. Complete the relevant assignment at home, take it out of the binder, and bring it in the next week. Charm School staff will go through and grade them. You will get them back the following week.”

Carrie pulled a face and crossed her arms over her skinny chest. Graded assignments to help teach a person charm? She shook her head. This was silly. She’d participate in the classes, but homework? Fat chance!

Lisa elbowed Carrie. “Listen to her! And put your arms down. She can see you, you know.”

Carrie glanced at her friend’s hands and copied her by placing her own on her lap, too.

Mrs. Johnson continued, “Let’s dive right in. Our first lesson is the most important one: cleanliness. Charming girls are always immaculate.”

Since her parents were immigrants from the Netherlands, where cleanliness is prized, Carrie nodded. She knew all about this. When Carrie was still very young, her mom taught her how to wash her entire body at the sink every morning and to wash her face and hands every evening. Mom gave Carrie’s twin brothers, who were three years old, a daily bath. Her baby sister, Judy, had her daily bath in the kitchen sink. Mom even washed the front steps of their house! What would this American lady advise?

Carrie listened carefully as Mrs. Johnson described how to wash. So far, so good.

“Girls should wash their faces and hands once a day and shower or bathe every few days.”

Carrie’s mouth dropped open, and her hand shot into the air.

“Yes, do you have a question?” Mrs. Johnson peered at Carrie’s nametag. “Carrie, right?”

“Do you mean that? It doesn’t sound right. Surely, if you only wash your armpits and bottom every few days, you’ll stink!” Carrie pantomimed holding her nose.

There was a chorus of titters from around the room, but Mrs. Johnson sighed. “Deodorant. Clean clothes,” she droned before continuing. “Now, the hair we treat differently from the body. That should be washed every week or two. No more than that, since it’ll dry out.”

Carrie didn’t say anything, but she thought dry is better than greasy any day.

Then Mrs. Johnson bent down and pulled out a brightly colored spray can. “This is dry shampoo, a powder that is brushed into hair to mask odors and absorb grease.”

Carrie narrowed her eyes. The can looked interesting, but, with five children, her family wouldn’t be able to afford dry shampoo. Deep in thought, she tapped her lip. Maybe there was an alternative. After all, the shampoo was made of powder, so it should be possible to use another kind of powder. She turned to ask Lisa what she thought, but Lisa was focused on taking notes.

As soon as Carrie got home, she shook the talc that Mom used on Judy’s bottom onto her own hair. Rather more came out than she expected, which made her sneeze. The motion made even more talc come out; it looked like it had snowed on the top of her head. Carrie grabbed the family hairbrush and brushed and brushed. The brush turned white, but her hair turned gray. Finally, even though it’d only been washed a couple of days ago, she washed her hair.

In the morning, Mom asked Carrie why the hairbrush was full of baby powder.

“I was doing an experiment.”

“Ah.” Mom was used to that. “Did it work?”

Carrie shook her head. “I’ll wash the brush.”

Keep watch for the book!