sitting in my car--the only place i can truly find warmth these days--by the beach one night, i kept running my hands through my long, unruly hair and found that my fingers would get caught about half-way through each time. i did this repeatedly for about twenty minutes--i'm not exaggerating--and felt overwhelmingly convicted: i have to cut this off, i thought to myself. all of a sudden, i felt something move within me. hmm. i put my keys in the ignition, checked the rear view mirror, pulled out and found myself arriving at a Mobil gas station. i wandered in, eyes flashing, looking for something sharp. corn nuts. lighter fluid. orbit. nothing. i decided that using the restroom would suffice for the moment. also, i realized that asking the ESL gas attendant for a knife or scissors would illicit an unfavorable conversation, so i departed unarmed. back in the driver's seat i felt totally wild. i drove back to the beach and met a friend. fumbling to get my keys and phone out as fast as humanly possible, i got out of my car and ran toward him. i gave him a quick hug and said--do you have a knife? um, yeah, he said as he procured a pocket knife from his tight jeans' pocket. perfect. ummm, can you cut off my pony tail? i asked, motioning toward my 12 inch problem. uh, sure, he said. fantastic.
saw. saw. saw. hold on, it's almost done. saw. rip. tear. there's a little bit more. saw. snip. almost, almost. saw. ok. here you go.
i ran my fingers through my hair and they didn't get stuck.
0 comments:
Post a Comment