Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)
Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.
This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Living in a houseful of girls, there's a lot of hair around. The vacuum cleaner beater/roller thing is constantly in need of detangling after every use having, as it does, great wads of hair wrapped around and around it. (One trick I've had to learn in carpet cleaning is to scuffle backwards in my rubber-soled shoes, which invariably rolls up a big spliff of hair that had gotten trapped down in the nap of the carpet.)
Great wafting balls of hair sometimes billow across the bathroom floor like pint-sized tumbleweeds. Every brush contains a pillow-full of hair. All different lengths, all different colors, all different textures. I have joked with Reba that she'd never be able to tell if I had another woman stashed away on the side, because there'd be no way to pick out one unfamiliar hair out of all the other ones attached to me. It's like looking for hay in a haystack. (By the way, she's not worried at all about such a highly unlikely event, as I am too busy VACUUMING THE FLOOR in my free time.)
Anyway, I was sitting here a moment ago with my hand on my leg, and felt a tell-tale tickle on the back of my hand. A hair, of course. I waved my hand and was going to flick it off (the hair, not my hand) when I realised it was stuck to my clothes. I pulled, and finally it came free. A foot and three inches, dark blonde, and it had gotten stuck in the zipper of my pants!
I hope I was the only one who noticed it. Some people might think I've been doing something other than vacuuming.
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