Good grief,nothing puts me off mango season better than a mouthful of worm faeces. Here I am,happily chewing away on my mango,distracted by the Saturday nation,when I notice a graininess-that’s not a word,kids-in my mouth. I rapidly spit it out and rush to the sink-the seed has little black dots pouring out of a bigger black abyss of grossness-another not-word. Thank God the dots weren’t moving. Anyway according to the resident biologist,that’s the waste of the larvae that are/have been burrowing into the succulent seed of my not-so-tasty-anymore mango. FANfuckingtastic. I should really start keeping critter social schedules straight. Although to be fair I should have noticed earlier. I can’t freaking multitask,I know this. I also know food is a jealous god. This is nutric-not a word. I think. It should be,though.- karma,coming to haunt me. I think I feel my stomach beginning to…ack. Fucking hate bugs.
So I’m in the shower today and I’m washing my (now much shorter) hair and I’m thinking I mean really. Who needs this? It’s just hair,right? Plus I’m kinda curious about the actual shape of my head. So seeing as I don’t do permanent shit-read piercings,tattoos,babies-I could,and in fact should,shave. A,it’ll grow back. B,it’s never that serious. C,it’ll annoy Pet so much she’ll never ask me to comb my hair again when it does. 😀
I told Mr. M about my lofty hairless future plans. He made a face. I was almost put off until I slapped myself on the inside. Was I honestly about to reconsider my Grand Poobah plans in order to be someone’s preferred girlfriend? Then I shivered at my sprung soul,now a flowery,whimsical place. I’ve become THOSE girls. gong
Granted,I may still go bald,but I’ll think of him when I do it. I always used to marvel at THOSE chicks who wear their hearts so completely on their sleeves that it’s painfully obvious to everyone around them,especially when he’s not,even if he feels the same…so much so that the blatant honesty of their emotion makes us cringe. It’s like you can’t stand to be around the purity that is true love,or it’s just fekking annoying,innit? And you don’t know why,you just resent it. THOSE girls. You know,the ones who ask if he misses you instead of waiting for him to say it. The ones who can’t go on the rave without the significant other,or they’ll make themselves and everyone around them miserable half the time. Hence the cringe. Now,though…now I get it. I get being really silly and not giving a damn about anyone else and pda (to be fair,I always got that. EXHIBITIONISM. It’s a movement.) and extreme and intense emotion…I get it.
Crap. I just wrote that paragraph. I’ma go back to hating on creepycrawlies before I start pissing glitter onto my blog.