There is nothing quite so exhilarating as hearing someone say, verbatim, the thought you've just thunk.
I want to go get my haircut today, but I will have to wait at least one more week before attempting it. The wound on the back of my head hasn't completely healed, although the staples were removed last Tuesday. This kind of sucks because my hair is becoming quite grassy. I disclaim an apology for the bare-headed of my readers, but one of the things I wish about myself is that my hair weren't so THICK. I have mainly Irish and French roots, but some ancestral mother of mine may have hooked up with a person who grew hair so thick that it probably calcified and formed a single horn. Perhaps even a human rhino.
While visiting ADC's mom, she actually suggested that I tone my 'do down with rows. I don't think so.
"Sheeet. You better not be one of those peckerheads who wears a ponytail. No son of mine's gonna be consortin with no fag, boy. You a fag?" she said, "You better not be. I'll smack the happy right out of you."
"Uh... no ma'am," I eeked out.
"No ma'am what?" she shot back.
As I grunted and stuttered, ADC rose his head. "Wes. Just... don't."
"Yes ma'am?"
It was all downhill from there.
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