The days of dainty napery, salt bowls, and centerpieces are done. Foreclosed, a home’s a house; the signs say short-term leases. The royal treatment? Who has time? Boxed wine, a deli platter, and it’s a party—not to say decorum doesn’t matter in Pleasant Bluff, just people’s sense of reciprocity has changed—from canine palaces complete with filigree and eaves, to little knitted caps fitted to pickle jars, sympathy hams, or Christmas wreaths in the grills of burnt out cars. That’s why, despite her wild hairs, Wynona aims to bring a sense of old Colonial style to the latest next big thing: when others at the beauty shop choose lighting bolts or hearts, she asks the cosmetologist to wax her lady parts but leave a pineapple design (which, once the splotches fade, looks something like a monkey paw, maybe a hand grenade). But either way, Wynona’s lover doesn’t say a word, just flaps himself against her lintel like a manic bird, until she understands he’ll never give a hoot about the logic of her welcome, though he gladly wears it out.