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a candidate for a soulmate

September 13, 2013

Yesterday I ironed a skirt. It has never occurred to me to iron anything since the long ago time in my young life when I had to look nice for Jesus on Sunday, and ye gods. Apparently this is one of the things that keeps me from looking like other normal nice looking people. Along with brushing one’s hair, and to that purpose I have recently procured my first hairbrush in oh, ten or so years. Now that my hairs are so very long and lustrous, apparently not bleaching and ManicPanicking the shit out of them every two weeks without end amen lends itself to an incredible silky mane whose individual members are round and sleek instead of oblong and full of holes, I figured that I needed a brush. I figured this because I was developing a habit of running my fingers through my hair all the time, kind of like…kind of like a brush, and one day it hit me, oh. What I need is a dinglehopper. So I got one.

But anyhow, the ironing. It sure does make things pretty. After seeing the results of my first labor, a skirt that I had thrown perfectly clean into the laundry again so as to get the wrinkles out of it and then let sit in the dryer for two days so it was all wrinkled again, I went and got a bunch more skirts and I ironed the shit out of them. I ironed this one skirt that I have had for probably seven years, that had never before in its existence been ironed as far as I know of, and hot goodness. That thing doesn’t even look like itself.

Now I am sitting up like a meerkat, looking around for all the other ways that people use to make themselves look nice and polished, because these first two have been such a riotous success. I personally noticed not much difference in my hair when I started washing it regularly and brushing it ever, but the quantity of compliments I have had on it since then alerts me to the fact that other people sure do.

I am considering buying hairspay. Not that I have even the foggiest what I plan to do with it.

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I am

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