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10:54 a.m. - 2003-12-08
Hair Grabbers
Well, here's a little puzzle for those of you who are scientifically inclined:

How come my house is consistently way colder than the outdoors? It is colder inside my house than outside!! Why is this??!!!

This weekend was beautiful - warm and sunny!! Inside my house? Freezing!! I am wearing three layers of clothing as I type this!!

The house's unnatural ability to retain the cold is a blessing in summer. I really enjoy walking into the cool and placid oasis that is my house in July. In December though? The house's consistent desire to be 50 degrees wears thin.

It could be worse. I could still be living in Boston!! Hey, are all you folks ok up there? Did I lose any dear friends in all that snow?

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Had a lovely weekend. We went to Shine, Bare Hand's holiday show opening, on Friday night. It would have been a perfect evening except that the hair grabbers were out in full force.

I'm not sure if I've talked about the hair grabbers before. In the South, my particular brand of red hair (that would be the "copper penny" brand for all of you who've never met me in person) is fairly rare. While living in Boston I was free to roam without anyone looking twice at my tresses, here in the South it garners constant comment.

And Southerners being way less physically restrained than Northerners, it also gets grabbed. A lot. People just can't seem to keep their hands off it.

The first time this happened I was in a supermarket. We had only been here three days and I was barely getting used to the fact that everyone we met immediately hugged us. Yup, a warning to all you Yanks who are planning to come visit. You need to reconsider your personal space boundaries. Southerners like to hug.

So anyway, there I am in the supermarket, innocently ogling a packet of frozen fish and marveling at the fact that it cost a full third less than I would have paid in Boston. Suddenly from behind me I heard a high pitched voice, squealing in an accent I could barely understand.

"Wah, Darlin'!! Ah jus' looooooove yor haaaarrr!!!"

And then two perfectly manicured hands sunk themselves into my hair.

Not being from the South, I immediately screamed. It just didn't dawn on me that anyone would actually grab my hair because they liked it. I assumed the woman was some strange fetishist and I was going to wind up scalped in the frozen food section.

Over the four years that we've lived here I've gotten used to having strange people's hands fondling my head. I'm almost at a point where I like it. Friday night's opening was a little much though. My hair must have been in an especially good mood, because it got felt up at least seven times. By the end of the night I was starting to feel like an overly desired stuffed animal in the toy section at KMart.


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