xMO TRIM
No. Not that kind of trim. I had none of that in my stocking. Like in that O'Henry story, I'm talking hairs. How that little bald, lolly pop sucking guy could write such beautiful stories was beyond me. After Itchy and Shorty had so rudely interrupted my recitation, i moped around looking hurt. No one paid the least bit of attention to my hurt feelings. The neices and nephews were playing board games. The TV was on to a football game. The women gossiped and fixed more food. The men drank, ate, snored, farted, burped and started it all over again. By evening the old man had gotten the photos developed from the morning. He was almost as fast as digital. Shoot. Drive to the Photohut and drop off the film. Pick 'em up before closing. Memories by dinner time.
We had a nice family shot. I looked at my hair with dismay. It hadn't been cut in two years. What with the thinning top and receding front it was only a matter of time before it all went down the drain. I joined the kids at the dining room table. I told one neice that if she braided my hair they could cut it. I couldn't have given those kids a better gift. What the hell. I needed a change. One went for the rubber bands. Another got the scissors and a brush. If I'd let them they would've shaved me, painted my toe nails and dressed me up in a party dress. Kids love to redo their elders. Each one's a little Queer eye at heart.
By the time they were done i looked like a sad mental patient with a "bob". "OOOOoooo, you look GREAT!" they all exclaimed. They were not at all objective over their work. I took a shower hoping it would help. It didn't. I just looked like a wet mental patient. If i shook it out I looked like Mao with round eyes. Shorty snickered and Itchy had to run from the room so as not to swallow her tongue. I heard her cracking up in the bathroom. My mother gave me a big kiss and said i looked so much better. She was as blind as those lousy barbers. By the time xmas was over everyone had drifted off to sleep and I opened one last gift, forgotton under the tree. To: xMO From: Santa. It was a tortiseshell hair brush. And to all a good night.
We had a nice family shot. I looked at my hair with dismay. It hadn't been cut in two years. What with the thinning top and receding front it was only a matter of time before it all went down the drain. I joined the kids at the dining room table. I told one neice that if she braided my hair they could cut it. I couldn't have given those kids a better gift. What the hell. I needed a change. One went for the rubber bands. Another got the scissors and a brush. If I'd let them they would've shaved me, painted my toe nails and dressed me up in a party dress. Kids love to redo their elders. Each one's a little Queer eye at heart.
By the time they were done i looked like a sad mental patient with a "bob". "OOOOoooo, you look GREAT!" they all exclaimed. They were not at all objective over their work. I took a shower hoping it would help. It didn't. I just looked like a wet mental patient. If i shook it out I looked like Mao with round eyes. Shorty snickered and Itchy had to run from the room so as not to swallow her tongue. I heard her cracking up in the bathroom. My mother gave me a big kiss and said i looked so much better. She was as blind as those lousy barbers. By the time xmas was over everyone had drifted off to sleep and I opened one last gift, forgotton under the tree. To: xMO From: Santa. It was a tortiseshell hair brush. And to all a good night.
posted by mike osterhout at 3:40 PM
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