Saturday night we went to my dad’s Barbershop competition (dude, his chorus WON!) and I just couldn’t stop staring at this woman’s hair. Her husband actually allowed her to walk out of the hotel room in that condition. Then she arrived at the event and cheerfully greeted all her Barbershop girlfriends who, in flagrant disregard of the Girlfriend rules, not one said to her, “Oh, honey, for the love, NO” and not one took her to the ladies and disassembled the biggest beehive in the history of all womankind. Me, Hunky, The Seester, and her boyfriend Red Rambo sat and discussed what it would take to get her hair to stand up that high. I suggested a can of compressed air and aerosol super glue which led to a really freakish and rated R conversation about her in a skirt pitching a pouffy tent. *shudders* So anyway, I just couldn’t NOT look. It was like a train wreck. Actually, more like a 747 that crashed into an alien space ship and then all the people and aliens got out and had latex gloves that they put over their heads and blew them up with their noses, you know, like that episode on St. Elsewhere, and then they all danced in a big circle around the fiery wreckage, you know, like Loo Tent Ant in Dances With Wolves only then it turns in the Hokey Pokey and all the people and aliens are wailing drunkenly and the aliens are trying to figure out what to put in and out for feet since they don’t have any and in a bizarre act in the name of tolerance and divercity, the people rip off their own feet so that the aliens don’t feel all out of place and the aliens in a strange coincidence all have amazing juggling ability and regale the people with their awesome display of feet-juggling prowess, and determined not to be outdone, the people throw a rope up over the still blazing rubble and tightrope across it, bloody stumps and all, and the aliens cheer enthusiastically and they all toast Spam over the smoldering debris and live happily ever after.
Or something like that.