My Dream Girl
Posted 01-24-2010 at 02:51 AM by GCSTroop
I found a new barbershop yesterday. Well, actually, it's a new Fantastic Sam's that's closer to my home than most other barbershops. I was grateful for this place opening as all the other barbershops around are terrible, a relatively long drive (for a haircut), and in inconvenient locations with heavy automobile traffic that make getting in and out of the place miserable.
I always enjoy a good haircut and being someone who likes to keep my hair short, I frequently feel in need of one. So, I dropped by the new barbershop today and found the girl of my dreams.
I walked in to this new place and there she sat. All four-hundred pounds of her just itching to get her hands all over my head. Now, I'm not one to judge a person simply by their weight but when my dream girl opened her mouth to speak, I was immediately clued in to the compulsively "dirty" way in which she talked. I'm not talking about dirty in the sense of sexy either. I'm talking about a purely willful, uneducated, slovenly, completely uncouth manner of talking. Before we even made it to "the chair," she had already told me how she was going to a special class tomorrow and they weren't even going to feed her. This was going to be interesting.
I sat down in the chair and the first thing she complained about were her hot flashes. She kept going on and on about how hot it was in the place (it couldn't have been above 65 degrees) and that ever since her pregnancy she'd been having them a lot. I was glad to hear all of this personal information from a woman who spoke with the blustering tongue of a 9th grade Mississippi education.
I was then informed by my dream girl that her "baby daddy" (she wouldn't or perhaps couldn't even give the possessive form of the word baby to indicate it was her own child) was a jerk who hadn't paid child support since the baby was born.
I was anxious to get down to business so I told her how I'd like my hair cut (she never asked as her wheezing breath was apparently caught up in the thoughts of Mr. Baby Daddy). She started combing my hair and then she came across the bald spot on the side of my head that I've had since I was born. Every time I go to a barbershop I'm always asked "How did that happen?" And my standard response is always "When I was born, I was two weeks late, a first born child, and I was close to nine pounds. They tried forceps and a tow truck and this bald spot is the result."
She then decided to inform me that she was close to 11 pounds when she was born (I was not surprised) and that she was worried she'd require a C-Section with her baby. I found out a valuable piece of medical advice from her. I quote, "Big ass woman like me usually need a C-Section." I felt so much better knowing that.
But, then she surprised me with another piece of valuable information that I felt utterly charmed to hear about. "Did you know," she asked, "I only needed two quick pumps and I spat that child of mine out?" How does one respond to that? I am pretty good with fitting into conversations I'm on unsteady ground with but that one took me a bit by surprise. Should I have congratulated her on her obviously skillful prowess at making babies? Perhaps it would have been better to high-five her and say "You go girl!"
Needless to say, as my haircut wore on, I got to hear about the wonderful "Baby Daddy" who had been such a huge part of my dream girl's life. He's a successful man, in his late 20's, working his way up at McDonald's and about to wrap up the final segments of his parole. Yet, she acts stunned that he hasn't offered to do his fair share of the "Baby Daddy" thing.
Of course, a few extra comments about her hot flashes changed the subject. Did I mention how she thought she was perio-menopausal and concerned about that at the tender young age of 38? She seemed baffled that she could be besieged by any sort of medical oddity. After all, this is the woman who with two "quick pumps" brought a living, breathing child into this world!
Finally, the haircut was done. I've never seen my hair look so awful in all my life. I think Ray Charles with an electric chainsaw could have done a better job but I was glad to be out of my chair. I stood up, made my way to the register, and the girl of my dreams told me that it'd be $14. I left a five-dollar tip ('baby' gotta eat - and so did she, apparently) and just as I was about to turn my back on the girl of my dreams, she poked me in the arm and said, "Here, let me give you this." I looked at it and it was her card, with her name on it, and her personal phone number scribbled on the back in some unintelligible alien language.
She winked at me and said "If my baby daddy ain't around, you can call me any time you like." I assured her I'd take it under serious consideration and thanked her for the haircut, turned and made my way out of the place.
After I got into my truck, I sat there for a second and realized that in the fifteen minutes of getting a haircut, I probably knew more information about this woman than her doctor did. In fact, I probably knew more about her than her 'Baby Daddy' did.
And that was my F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C haircut experience at the latest barbershop. Isn't everyone happy I finally found my dream girl? I am. I can't wait to go back and get my hair butchered again at the hands of this foul-mouthed, vulgar, and disgusting rhinoceros.
I always enjoy a good haircut and being someone who likes to keep my hair short, I frequently feel in need of one. So, I dropped by the new barbershop today and found the girl of my dreams.
I walked in to this new place and there she sat. All four-hundred pounds of her just itching to get her hands all over my head. Now, I'm not one to judge a person simply by their weight but when my dream girl opened her mouth to speak, I was immediately clued in to the compulsively "dirty" way in which she talked. I'm not talking about dirty in the sense of sexy either. I'm talking about a purely willful, uneducated, slovenly, completely uncouth manner of talking. Before we even made it to "the chair," she had already told me how she was going to a special class tomorrow and they weren't even going to feed her. This was going to be interesting.
I sat down in the chair and the first thing she complained about were her hot flashes. She kept going on and on about how hot it was in the place (it couldn't have been above 65 degrees) and that ever since her pregnancy she'd been having them a lot. I was glad to hear all of this personal information from a woman who spoke with the blustering tongue of a 9th grade Mississippi education.
I was then informed by my dream girl that her "baby daddy" (she wouldn't or perhaps couldn't even give the possessive form of the word baby to indicate it was her own child) was a jerk who hadn't paid child support since the baby was born.
I was anxious to get down to business so I told her how I'd like my hair cut (she never asked as her wheezing breath was apparently caught up in the thoughts of Mr. Baby Daddy). She started combing my hair and then she came across the bald spot on the side of my head that I've had since I was born. Every time I go to a barbershop I'm always asked "How did that happen?" And my standard response is always "When I was born, I was two weeks late, a first born child, and I was close to nine pounds. They tried forceps and a tow truck and this bald spot is the result."
She then decided to inform me that she was close to 11 pounds when she was born (I was not surprised) and that she was worried she'd require a C-Section with her baby. I found out a valuable piece of medical advice from her. I quote, "Big ass woman like me usually need a C-Section." I felt so much better knowing that.
But, then she surprised me with another piece of valuable information that I felt utterly charmed to hear about. "Did you know," she asked, "I only needed two quick pumps and I spat that child of mine out?" How does one respond to that? I am pretty good with fitting into conversations I'm on unsteady ground with but that one took me a bit by surprise. Should I have congratulated her on her obviously skillful prowess at making babies? Perhaps it would have been better to high-five her and say "You go girl!"
Needless to say, as my haircut wore on, I got to hear about the wonderful "Baby Daddy" who had been such a huge part of my dream girl's life. He's a successful man, in his late 20's, working his way up at McDonald's and about to wrap up the final segments of his parole. Yet, she acts stunned that he hasn't offered to do his fair share of the "Baby Daddy" thing.
Of course, a few extra comments about her hot flashes changed the subject. Did I mention how she thought she was perio-menopausal and concerned about that at the tender young age of 38? She seemed baffled that she could be besieged by any sort of medical oddity. After all, this is the woman who with two "quick pumps" brought a living, breathing child into this world!
Finally, the haircut was done. I've never seen my hair look so awful in all my life. I think Ray Charles with an electric chainsaw could have done a better job but I was glad to be out of my chair. I stood up, made my way to the register, and the girl of my dreams told me that it'd be $14. I left a five-dollar tip ('baby' gotta eat - and so did she, apparently) and just as I was about to turn my back on the girl of my dreams, she poked me in the arm and said, "Here, let me give you this." I looked at it and it was her card, with her name on it, and her personal phone number scribbled on the back in some unintelligible alien language.
She winked at me and said "If my baby daddy ain't around, you can call me any time you like." I assured her I'd take it under serious consideration and thanked her for the haircut, turned and made my way out of the place.
After I got into my truck, I sat there for a second and realized that in the fifteen minutes of getting a haircut, I probably knew more information about this woman than her doctor did. In fact, I probably knew more about her than her 'Baby Daddy' did.
And that was my F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C haircut experience at the latest barbershop. Isn't everyone happy I finally found my dream girl? I am. I can't wait to go back and get my hair butchered again at the hands of this foul-mouthed, vulgar, and disgusting rhinoceros.
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