I was going to wait until the death of my fourth husband (who will undoubtedly be Jamaican and who will have taught me the art of corn rows with beads while I read to him The Shawshank Redemption AGAIN in our above ground pool) before I endeavored to create my own earrings with fine bead work of my own. Instead, I did it yesterday. Made my own earrings with fine beadwork. I cannot wait to show you. I cannot.

Jean handed me two sets of earring hooks (“to get you started”) and pointed in the direction of Benjamin Buttons, the bead shop around the corner. Inside, a tall blonde lady took little notice of my entrance. Then she returned to her bead work. The shelves were chalked full of small canisters of beads. I have to say that this store was typical Perth specialty store— overpriced with less option. Definitely, not a Michaels. 

She eventually spoke to me when I complimented her on her earrings. They were pink crystals and she made them herself. The woman had full sleeve tattoos and a completely polished face of showgirl-esque makeup. One could see why but one wouldn’t dare let on that they took much notice of her extreme burn scars. The entire right side of her face, neck and arm were severely burned at one point and while this was something that stood out, her outgoing personality and trendy tattoos are what were a distraction. Still, beyond the scars of burnt skin, you could easily see she was an attractive woman. Somehow, the  terrible scarring did nothing to take away from her incredible features.

As I went about searching for no set of beads in particular, I could hear her speaking quietly to the man sitting behind the counter opposite her. He had a light, airy voice and it floated across the abrupt sound of his German accent. 

I inched my way towards him as I looked into each case of beads. When I got to him, I spoke. 

“You have this shop for a long time?” 

“Yes. seven years. I get beads from all over.” 

“Popular. Beading. Huh.” 

“Women. They love it.” 

I asked him if he had a sugar skull type stuff. The less bead-y, more ‘out there’ stuff. He pointed to a shelf behind me. This shelf contained at least 80 mini jars of beads. He points in that general area which reminded me of when my mom pointed into the entire kitchen for one particular fork that she is looking for. Far too general, foreigners. 

Finally, I asked him to get up and show me. 

“Pretty please” I said. 

“I can’t. Im in a pretty wheelchair.” 

I swallowed my entire face and quickly, in a red rush of blood to my skull, turned my back on him and said, “This one?!” pointing nervously to the wrong one. Again, panicked, “THIS ONE???!!” wrong again.  Finally, frantic, “OH. MY. Uh, THIS ONE?” Success. 

I go to the counter, I pay. I paid $11.00 for 4 beads. 

I told him sorry. He said, “no worries. how could you have known. I’m sitting behind the bloody counter, aren’t I.” God. The Germans are such realists. 

The moral of the story is— stay away from bead shops. Also, keep your feet clean, you never know when they’ll be in your mouth.