Stop Interrupting MePosted: April 9, 2014
Last week, I told you about my latest and most terrifying haircut adventure. Today I’m going to tell you that it may not be over.
No, I’m not saying that I’ve been getting my hair cut continuously for the past three weeks. I will admit that would be terrifying in its own way. Thank you so much for bringing it up. If there’s anything I need, it’s to waste more time worrying about crazy stuff that you bring up…like three week long haircuts. Please don’t interrupt me.
I’m concerned about something much more sinister, with ethical implications far beyond what I should be addressing on my humble blog.
Lydia, Oh Lydia
You might recall that my last few haircuts were done by a woman who is littered with bad tattoos. During my last cut, she brought out a straight razor to trim the hair on the back of my neck. No one has ever used a straight razor to cut my hair before.
While she was trimming the hair, she actually trimmed off a piece of my neck. She apologized when she did it. And since it didn’t bleed all that much and it is not smart to mouth off to someone holding a razor, I was cool about it.
Yes, I just assessed my own action and decided I was cool about it. Stop interrupting me.
Lydia, The Tattooed Lady cut a chunk out of my neck. I’ve begun to wonder if it really was an accident. There might be more going on here.
I’ve told you that Lydia has a lot of bad tattoos. And when I first told you about how she cut me, I told you that both times she has given me a haircut, she’s told me how much fun getting a tattoo is. She encouraged me to get one and even offered to connect me with the artist she uses because (she thinks) he is very good. I’ve turned down her offers.
During the last haircut, I said no thank you to the offer of her tattoo artist. I was bleeding less than five minutes later.
Retaliation Isn’t Her Goal
No, I don’t think she cut me in some sort of attempt to retaliate. Stop interrupting me.
It seems very important to Lydia that I get a tattoo. I think it would be a bonus for her if I got that tattoo from the hack that does hers. I’m not inclined to fulfill Lydia’s wishes, I just want my hair shorter. My second refusal was the last straw. She cut me to get my DNA.
Lydia, The Tattooed Lady may be trying to clone me.
Yes, I’m aware that she could get my DNA from my hair. If she tried to get my hair off the floor she might get the wrong hair and end up with a clone of a different person. When she cut me with the razor she got a confirmed DNA sample. Stop interrupting me.
Lydia, The Tattooed Lady may be trying to clone me to fulfill her insane desire to have me tattooed.
If You See Me, Look Twice
It is possible that somewhere not so far away, is a sad clone. He looks like me. He has endured unspeakable atrocities at the hands of Lydia. And those atrocities were only the prelude to the tattoos.
Cloned me is covered with bad ink. Scarred and scared by his life with Lydia, he is like me in looks alone. He roams the streets. People can see that he is miserable and full of rage. Children cower as he passes. Adults flee. He can’t get Chinese food because everyone runs out the back door of the restaurant as he comes in the front. His hunger only increases his misery.
Cloning is a very touchy subject for scientists. If my clone was created by a cosmetologist, how can he know that he was ethically created? What a burden.
Deep down, the clone is like me. He wants to befriend people. But he can’t. Because of his tortured, terrifying appearance they just run away. My clone is a desperate man.
If you’re walking down the street and you think you see me, be careful. Look at my hands. If you see LOVE and HATE tattooed across my knuckles, run away. Look at my neck. If it says Lydia on the side, you’re not looking at my neck. That’s my scary clone and his scary neck.
You might know me, but neither of us know what my clone might be capable of, nor do we have a handle on what motivates him. He’s probably a decent guy at heart; likelyas good as any man who was grown from a mole severed from the neck of another man. Until we know for sure, be cautious.
I’m due for another haircut in a week or two. This could be the start of Lydia’s clone army.
Or, I could show some initiative and go somewhere else for a trim.
Of course, now that I’m looking for suggestions on where to get my next haircut, you’re not interrupting. Geez.