The other morning, Mister and I were smack-dab in the middle of our P90X workout when I realized that for a particular weight-lifting exercise, I was getting into an Elvis pose. That itty-bitty thought made me giggle, which made the workout a bit easier. (Laughter – it does a body good.)
Later that afternoon, I was standing in a grocery store check-out queue when I spotted a tabloid headline saying something to the effect that Elvis had been murdered. I was checking out the tabloid’s coffin photo of The King when I noticed a gentlemen in line beside me.
His clothes were nice but nondescript. The only interesting thing about his attire was the way his collar was turned up. He was a slight man, his full height barely reaching an inch or so above my shoulder. And he was elderly. But none of that was worth noting. What was worth a second look was the man’s hair: it was a full-on Elvis wig. And that thing wasn’t fancy, no sir. No spendy human hair there. It was made of plastic doll hair, pitch black and a little matted in spots. When I stole a peek at the sideburns, I could see the glue on his cheeks, holding them in place. More than one clerk addressed him by name, so he’s surely a regular. No one said a word about his get-up. Instead, he kept trying to talk football with someone. It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut and not say I’d watched the weekend’s games. But I didn’t open my pie-hole. I just let the old dude finish his shopping and take his leave.
Sometimes I have odd magnetic days like that. I’ll have something particular dancing around on my brain, and before you know it I’ll have run into that very thought in multiple manifestations out in the world. It’s just something that happens, and if there’s a greater meaning in it, I’ve yet to understand.
As for this week’s Elvis wave, all I can say to the Universe is ThankYou, ThankYouVeryMuch.