The Coconuts In Question

Amy Smallman-Winston & Andrew Villarreal 

at the Bad Hair Days Inn 

You could say it was a sticky situation. Last night, the night before the closing night of Brushes: A Comedy of Hairs, which happens to be tonight, at precisely 10:33 p.m., I received the following Shakespearean email from one of the greatest humans ever, that's right, Mr. Kevin Bailey, the director/exec producer of our show. "Hey there, did I perchance loan you my glue gun for the coconuts when we were trying to glue them?" - K

The coconuts, you see, have been an issue since the beginning of time. Rehearsal time, that is. I found them, where else, on Amazon, these cheapo plastic coconut drink cups with little flowers and straws, for "A Brush With Humidity." When terrified guests arrive at the Bad Hair Days Inn, Chester, the aging lobby boy, hands them a Hairy Mary cocktail in a cute coconut cup.

The problem: these cheapo cups consistently uncup, or if you prefer, come apart. They drop on the floor, bounce hither and thither. It's been a whole thing. One day, Kevin took them home. "I'm going to glue gun these mutha-effers together," he exclaimed. "They shall come apart no more." "I have the utmost confidence you will succeed," I said, although, I wasn't convinced that a glue gun would solve the dilemma. I cheered him on, despite my misgivings, for I am a team player. A few days later, when he handed back the coconuts in disrepair, with traces of ooey-gooey encircling them, I stifled my laughter. Oh wait, no I didn't. I laughed plenty and made a promise I knew I couldn't keep. "Leave it to this incredibly uncrafty Jew to fix them." "Good luck," he said, knowing full well that I would never fix them. Only, dammit, guess what, I did fix them, not with glue, but with double-sided tape. Not once in the entire six-show run have these mutha-eff'n coconuts come apart. Not once.

Here's what I wanted to write back: "Alas, poor Yorick, I know diddly about the glue gun's whereabouts. I will search high and low at the Whitefire, I will question the usual suspects, and if your glue gun appears, justice will be served." Sensitive gal that I am, I could sense his late night panic. He was a man in need of his glue gun. I needed to respect that. "Nope, haven't seen it," I wrote back. Did I mention the coconuts have never uncoconuted, not once in the entire run?

"Is that a glue gun in your pocket, 

or are you just happy to see me?" - Mae West