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name Tim C Hose sex male birthday 03.27.81
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Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Apparently, I have nice hair. It's not really something I think about, well, ever, but people comment about it to me. I was sitting at work one night at the front desk of my residence hall, and a pizza delivery lady came in and asked me for her customer's number. While I was looking for it, we were chatting, because I'm just chatty like that, and she said to me, "Wow! You have perfect hair! I mean really, perfect!"
It kind of made me nervous, but mom raised a polite boy, so I just said thanks, gave her the number and she was on her way. The only thing that made it not be just weird was that she said it in an honest way, not a creepy way. It put me in a better mood than I was already in (Which was good anyways), and I almost strained my neck trying to look at my hair in the windows. Looked normal. Another thing that it did was remind me of other "hair incidents" that have happened. There are a lot of little ones and one pretty funny one. The little ones are just that every single time that I've ever gone to a barber to get my hair cut, they have always said something about how thick my hair is. "Oh my goodness! You've got some thick hair!" "Jeez kid! Your hair is so thick!" "Wanda, get me the weedwhacker!" And so on. The other one was a couple of semesters ago. My friend Brian and I were washing our clothes at the laundrymat because the washers in the basement of Twin Towers were all being used. In the laundrymat there was this black family washing their clothes. This means that the poor woman's kids were running around like free range chickens, and she apparently didn't care what they did, or how close to death they came. These kids were just like me when I was their age. Jumping from table to table, screaming... It was hilarious. Two of the brothers who were a little bit older, maybe six at the most, climbed atop the washers in front of me and Brian and proceeded to give us a how-to on sumo wrestling. While one kid stomped his feet and screamed "Ahh SHO!" at the top of his lungs, the other one stomped his feet and screamed "Hui!" back at him. Then, after their opening ceremony was over, they started to kick the crud out of each other sumo-style. While this was happening, their little brother, who vaguely reminded me of Fat Albert, only tiny, became my fast friend. This kid was hilarious in everything he did. For one thing, I only understood one sentence that he said the entire time I was there. He came up to me at first, pointed to my hand, and said, "Aauga arrrgaa mrmph frowl!" I nodded at him and said, "Yes sir!" Apparently this was the reaction he wanted, because he grinned and said, "Murphle." in a satisfied tone, then decided that I was his jungle gym. So there I was, watching these two kids thrash around on top of the washers like a freaky midget WWF show while their little brother was stomping on my head in order to get to where he could sit on the table above me, and Brian and I were both laughing so hard that I thought I would pass out and my stomach hurt the next day. When the kid had finally gotten up on top of the table, he said the only thing that I understood that night. He grabbed my hair in both hands, started yanking my head from side to side, and bellowed down at me, "I like your hair!" Then, he resorted to his babblings again. Ahh, college. Ahh, kids. And ahh, hair. We left the laundrymat with three new friends and sore tummies that night, and I called it a good day. Any time you go home actually tired from laughing is a day that should shine in your memory, I think. It made me feel good, the kind of good feeling you get when a friend writes or calls just to say hi, the kind of good you get from reading the Beatitudes, and you know that everything's going great in America. Just thought I'd share with you guys. TimChose [
6:38 PM ] |