The awesome forces that be graced me with 2
older brothers and apparently they didn’t come with receipts so I couldn’t
return them. Believe me. I tried. A lot. Seriously, if there are any takers,
I’m willing to PAY YOU to take them. Even now when I’m in my late 20s.
My brother S (the middle one) went through
several phases in his life, trying to decide what he wanted to be when he grew
up. There was the absentee phase, the hobo phase, and unfortunately for J (the
oldest one) and I - the barber phase.
My horrible haircut came courtesy of my
brother learning from school what a “whirlee” was. When I was around 9, S came
home and came up to J and I and started going on about a whirlee. J did not
know what this was, and when S offered to show him, he happily accepted. BIG
MISTAKE.
I have no idea why J listened to what S
told him to do, but he WILLINGLY stuck his head in the toilet bowl at which
point S shoved his head into the water and flushed. J has always had a HUGE
EFFING AFRO and this got completely saturated with toilet water. The sick sick
toilet water that was in the toilet in the bathroom the boys used. Only the
boys used. And never cleaned. I
unfortunately started laughing, at which point S decided to even it out - I
needed a whirlee too.
Both my brothers were much bigger than I
was, so they were able to easily overpower me and force my head into the
toilet. This may not have been as devastating had I not had almost waist length
hair at the time. When the water flushed, my hair went down the toilet and got
stuck in the piping while still attached to my head. This was problematic as
the toilet tends to refill itself after flushing. After what I’m sure was a very
heated internal debate in my brother’s head on whether or not to rescue me, he
finally chose not to let me drown in the fucking disgusting water (it would
have been hard to explain to my parents). To save me, it required cutting off
my hair. All of it. ALL OF IT. And as quickly as possible.
Due to the nature of the forced change in
hairdo, the ends were not as even as they could have been. When my face came
out of the toilet, I had lopsided wet chunks of disgusting hair on the side of
my face, and smelled like a sewer. This is when my parents came home, and my
mom had to attempt to salvage my hair.
It took YEARS for my hair to grow back. And
I still have not gotten over the trauma of that water touching my skin. I’m
pretty sure every single bad thing I’ve ever done can be related to that toilet
water. It seeped into my soul and crushed the goodness in my heart.
Surprisingly not even a year later, J got
an awesome haircut too, which almost matched mine in the epic way it was
received. S had discovered that if you use PAM cooking spray with a match, you
have a homemade flame thrower. He was extremely excited and called J out to
see. S was smart enough to use his new found lawsuit waiting to happen on the
exterior patio (next to a giant old maple tree…) but didn’t think not to AIM it
at people. I decided to stay in the kitchen, which probably was a good plan.
The conversation overheard was:
S: Yeah! Look! I just take this match and
light it, and then spray this PAM and…
**whoosh noise**
J: HEY! That’s cool!!!! Do it again!
**woosh noise**
J: Woah that was close!
S: Uh.. shit.
J: Do you smell burning????
At this point J comes to the porch door and
looks at me and goes, “Is it as bad as I think it may be?”
Yes. Yes it really fucking was. We promptly
shaved his head and informed mom and dad that he needed to cut his hair for
school.
S eventually decided that being a hobo bum
slacking assface was waaaay below his paygrade capabilities. He’s now in the
military.
It’s scary as shit right?
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