Thursday, March 24, 2016

Some Days Are Diamond, Some Days Are Hair

Lest you think Mrs. Hillbilly Mom lives a charmed life, filling empty vessels, in the form of cherubs, from her fountain of knowledge...

Sweet Gummi Mary! What fresh not-heaven is THIS?

I'm pretty sure a cat did not sneak in under the door and hack up a hairball. Yet that's what it is! A ball of hair. A BALL OF HAIR! In Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's domain!

Granted, we did not put our noses to the grindstone today, on this last day before our four-day weekend that we call Spring Break. No bookwork. Just an educational video concerning amusement parks and how their rides still must function under the laws of Newton and other long-dead discoverers of forces and their interactions.

Sure, one little gal asked if she could braid another little gal's hair as long as they still paid attention. Mrs. HM was feeling generous. Sure. How long could it take? Turns out about 10 minutes. And they were not anywhere the area where this biohazard was discovered six hours later1

What in tarnation was going on here? Did Mrs. HM miss a knock-down drag-out altercation? Don't think so. There was no commotion. Everything was peaceful.

Surely today's pupils know enough about etiquette that they would never clean out a hairbrush and drop the no-longer-residing residue on the floor! Yet today's mystery remains unsolved.

Here's a little-known fact that Mrs. HM tries to keep under her hat. Well. HAT is perhaps a poor choice of words, because the very thought of that makes. Mrs. HM's mouth water like a burst of uncontrolled vomit is at this very moment eschewing the ticket booth and jumping the turnstile to hitch a ride on the Indisposed Express.

The fact is that one year, a girl shared a very personal secret with Mrs. HM. She even pulled her secret out of her purse and let it bask in the fluorescent glow of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's classroom ceiling lights.


Uh huh. Not only did she save it, each day, from her hairbrush...but she put it together with previous days' hirsute harvests, and had quite a specimen going on. She could have advertised it alongside the world's largest ball of twine on a highway billboard along Route 66. Mrs. HM tried to graciously compliment her on such a keepsake, but inside, her gastric juices were percolating up the old esophagus.

Today's discovery still remains a mystery. Mrs. HM stopped short of having The Pony scoop it up and toss it (along with his cookies) in the trash. There is only so much a mother can feel right about forcing her son to do for her. That lonely tumblin' hairball remained right there on the industrial tile.

Somewhere, somebody is crying, "Oh, the HAIRMANITY!"


fishducky said...

Loved your last line!!

Sioux said...

If I remember correctly, there is a "hair museum" in St. Genevieve. They have jewelry and other things made of hair. Apparently that used to be THE thing to do when women got their hair cut.

It sounds like it would be right up your alley...

Kathy's Klothesline said...

Gross! My mother had a "beauty salon" where she gave the exact same haircut to all who dared enter. She was appalled when I chose to become a nurse, telling me about all the nasty things I would encounter. She did not mention hair balls, which I consider to be among the nasties!

Hillbilly Mom said...

I admit to overusing it. There's hardly a subject I have not yet applied it to!

Yes! I remember that! I have NOT been there, and have no plans to go. But somewhere I saw an article about it. And something about a gal weaving elaborate wall-hanging things out of her neighbor's hair, and whatnot.

Heh, heh. Reminds me of Peg Bundy taking neighbor Marcy to her hair salon, and everybody there had Peg's 'do. As well as Marcy when she left.