"Oh-wow-look-at-your-hair-can-I-touch-it?"
This is one reason I hate going out. That as soon as the time of night comes where drinking happens, I have random fucks grabbbing my hair.
I do have really pretty hair. It's thick and curly and reddish-gold. I appreciate that it's the first thing people notice about me.
But Jesus tapdancing Christ, if I get one more thirty-something year old woman coming up to me, asking to touch my hair at the same time as shoving their fingers in it, I will explode in a veritable cluster-bomb of meat and bone, showering all and sundry with my sloppy innards.
Well, possibly.
And if I try telling someone I don't want their greasy-ass fingers raking through my locks, they get all huffy and upset and tell me to "relax" and "calm down, it's not like I'm assaulting you."
OH, I'M SORRY COMPLETE STRANGER, PLEASE, FEEL FREE TO TOUCH ME WHENEVER YOU WOULD LIKE.
No. Fuck that.
I would just shave it all off, but last time I did I got random fucks touching my head.
Current options are committing mass murder or staying home and surfing the internets every night for the rest of my life.
I'm tending towards the first option.
No comments:
Post a Comment