This Tuesday I’m sharing a little something I wrote back when I fancied myself to be an unknown writer. I had several of these little super short stories written for inclusion in the book that never was. So now I’ll share them with you one at a time here. Who knows, maybe one of these days if enough people like my little silly posts I’ll work up the courage to publish Not Quite Middle Finger Normal
My goal for the last several years has been to grow my red hair long enough to snatch back in a ponytail and go on with my life. I just brush, catch, wrap, and I’m ready to hit the road. Unfortunately, I found a flaw in my perfect little plan. I didn’t think about my dry hair and split ends.
What passes for my ponytail looks more like a pom-pom on steroids. That lustrous straight ponytail hanging perfectly in place I had envisioned for myself has turned into the largest ball of frizz in the universe. Seriously, this thing has its own gravity field. I mean, small moons and space junk orbit this thing. I’m sure there are little people living on the great red planet with satellite TV and wireless internet, which actually gives them better lives than I have in that department. I’m almost afraid to brush it out for fear of destroying life on their planet as they know it.
I also balk at washing my hair for the same reason. Well, that and I’m afraid I’m going to be electrocuted by the satellites when they get wet. I don’t have a choice, though, because my hair gets so dry if I don’t wash it, I’ll have to put a burn ban on the little guys. I’m pretty sure none of them are willing to leave the safety of their ponytail world just to make the hike all the way around my head and climb Mt. Killer-man-snot-wad to get a permit to burn anyway. I think of it like this, it rains on our planet and we make do, even with flooding and such. They should get the same enjoyment out of life we do. They already have it made back there, can’t make it too soft for them or they’ll never leave. Maybe next washing I’ll try flea shampoo. I’m telling you now; if I hear little screams when I use it, I’m calling my shrink.