11.6.03
In three parts:
#1
I received a phone call at eleven o'clock last night.
"It's eleven o' clock at night," I said. "What the hell do you want?"
"I'm having a fashion crisis," he said.
"You're having a what?"
"A fashion crisis."
"Don't you have to have a sense of fashion before you can have a fashion crisis? And a wardrobe that consists of more than blue jeans, hiking boots and monochrome t-shirts?"
"Oh," he said with a vocal shrug. "I'm not worried about my clothes. But, um, don't mention them to me again, or it might start spreading."
"Spreading? Not clothes? What are you having a fashion crisis about if it's not your clothes?"
"My hair."
"Oh," a slight stunned silence before, "And you called me because?"
"Well, you're a girl. What should I do with it?"
He couldn't cut it, we decided because that would mean he'd either end up looking like a football hooligan, or one of the trendy lads who thinks 'hairstyle' means an attack of hair gel and no sense of gravity. He couldn't dye it, we decided, because if he went blonde he'd have ridiculous Johnny Quest eyebrows, and if he went darker, no one would notice.
In the end I told him to dye it blue and wear it in a half-ponytail like Gandalf in Fellowship of the Ring.
Then I hung up.
I hope the poor boy doesn't listen to me.
#2
Ladies and gentlemen, for your delight and delectation, we present to you the one, the only, guaranteed cure for hiccups.
I kid you not.
None of this drinking water upside-down while reciting the alphabet backwards and getting the bejesus scared out of you crap.
No, what you do, is take a really deep breath, breathe in so long it hurts. Then you hold your breath for as long as you possibly can.
Your hiccups will be cured.
Yes, I swear. I'm on the level here and completely serious.
#3
Her: You're not doing anything tonight, because you're coming out with me to a quiz.
Me: A quiz? What about? Who with? When?
Her: Yup, a quiz. They say I can't tell you what about, and I'm not sure who with, and it's at 8.
Me: Right. A mystery quiz with mystery people at 8. Convince me I should miss ER for this.
Her: I'll give you biscuits.
...Apparently I'm easily bribed.
#1
I received a phone call at eleven o'clock last night.
"It's eleven o' clock at night," I said. "What the hell do you want?"
"I'm having a fashion crisis," he said.
"You're having a what?"
"A fashion crisis."
"Don't you have to have a sense of fashion before you can have a fashion crisis? And a wardrobe that consists of more than blue jeans, hiking boots and monochrome t-shirts?"
"Oh," he said with a vocal shrug. "I'm not worried about my clothes. But, um, don't mention them to me again, or it might start spreading."
"Spreading? Not clothes? What are you having a fashion crisis about if it's not your clothes?"
"My hair."
"Oh," a slight stunned silence before, "And you called me because?"
"Well, you're a girl. What should I do with it?"
He couldn't cut it, we decided because that would mean he'd either end up looking like a football hooligan, or one of the trendy lads who thinks 'hairstyle' means an attack of hair gel and no sense of gravity. He couldn't dye it, we decided, because if he went blonde he'd have ridiculous Johnny Quest eyebrows, and if he went darker, no one would notice.
In the end I told him to dye it blue and wear it in a half-ponytail like Gandalf in Fellowship of the Ring.
Then I hung up.
I hope the poor boy doesn't listen to me.
#2
Ladies and gentlemen, for your delight and delectation, we present to you the one, the only, guaranteed cure for hiccups.
I kid you not.
None of this drinking water upside-down while reciting the alphabet backwards and getting the bejesus scared out of you crap.
No, what you do, is take a really deep breath, breathe in so long it hurts. Then you hold your breath for as long as you possibly can.
Your hiccups will be cured.
Yes, I swear. I'm on the level here and completely serious.
#3
Her: You're not doing anything tonight, because you're coming out with me to a quiz.
Me: A quiz? What about? Who with? When?
Her: Yup, a quiz. They say I can't tell you what about, and I'm not sure who with, and it's at 8.
Me: Right. A mystery quiz with mystery people at 8. Convince me I should miss ER for this.
Her: I'll give you biscuits.
...Apparently I'm easily bribed.
