Dear Reggie,
The noises your fan is making scare me. You can be very quiet, but then your fan starts shrieking and it is very disturbing. Just hang on until I can go get some compressed air and . . . clean out your fan.
I’m a mature person and I refuse to go for the cheap jokes.
You have been quite wonderful since you went to the laptop hospital in March, and I hope this is only a minor setback in your life.
I love you.
Love, Katie
Just seeing that title, what would you think this post would be about?
If you guessed my first leg-shaving experience, then you’re wrong.
No, this experience is much, MUCH more recent than that one.
Let’s go back to the Summer of 2007, shall we?
This was my second summer as a day camp counselor at the delight that was Camp K. I’m not being completely sarcastic when I say it was a delight–some of the kids were downright hilarious (“I punched him on accident!”), I got along with most of the staff (ha ha, kind of. I definitely wasn’t the least despised person), and I got paid. Downsides? Where do I even start? I didn’t get paid enough for what I did (Seriously. Peanuts.), the kids had occasional freak-outs, I had occasional freak-outs (like when KG chucked her water bottle at me. That was awesome), and the hours were long and hot.
So what on earth does this have to do with leg hair?
I think it was Session Two of camp that summer (the summer was split into five two-week sessions). Miss A and I had Groups 5 & 6–AKA Group of Death. There was something about that age (8) that made the kids impossible to deal with. Our group happened to be a bit smaller that session, since it included Independence Day during the time frame (out of the 20 or so kids we were supposed to have, the most that ever showed up on a given day was 12. Awesome).
Back to the point of this post. Anyway, there was this one little girl who was in our group (I’ll call her MM, to protect the innocent and myself) who was . . . a different sort of girl. I can’t really describe her, other than to say that she had a vivid imagination and was kind of clingy. One fine July morning, we were hanging out in the pavilion during Opening, and MM was sitting next to me (I was standing, mind you. The cement was a little too cold for me). For those of you who don’t know me well (or who just don’t know this about me), I hate shaving my legs. Hate hate HATE it. Like, I just went a month without shaving my legs, and it started when it was still warm enough to wear shorts. I finally broke down this past Saturday since I had to go to church the next day and my legs were getting a little out of control. Argh, another tangent.
So anyway. It’s July. It had been a while since my last encounter with a razor (but not too long, mind). My legs were . . . a little stubbly. And MM is practically sitting on my feet. I’m spaced out, listening to Mr B (our camp director) ramble on and on and on about the bead system, when MM starts stroking my legs.
Um, excuse me, MM. Why the HECK are you doing that?!?
MM has a wistful smile on her face as she rubs her hands up and down my shins.
“You should grow your leg hair out, like Mr M.”
Thanks, you weird little girl.
From that day forward, I shaved my legs every single day that summer.
(NOTE: I started this post back in March and forgot to finish it. Now it’s done.)
I should be doing something productive, like finishing unpacking and organizing my room, cleaning out my car, maybe doing a few lit searches, or even . . . not writing yet another blog post?
Instead, I am sitting in my kitchen eating Flavor Blasted Goldfish, banging away at my keyboard while the spin cycle on the washing machine drones in the background. This kind of Goldfish reminds me of how Jenna could polish off a bag of these faster than you could say “THAT MONKEY HAS HERPES!!” Which in turn reminds me of everything associated with Oregon. And how I need to bring my neurobiology textbook to FHE tonight for Brad, since we wound up in the same ward. With Steve. What a crazy random happenstance (seriously. I was very surprised yesterday).
Which also reminds me that I need to get Drs H and S to sign an add/drop card for my participation on their research teams.
I have a lot to do.
Back to . . . trying to be productive?
For those of you who have been wondering why I haven’t updated in nearly three months, see my last post. I was busy trying (and failing) to keep my internship blog updated. I have a lot on my mind (and lots that will make excellent blog-fodder), but my brain feels all twisty.
*****
I’ve decided that I don’t like it when people can seemingly read your mind and bring up the very topic that you’re trying to avoid talking and even thinking about. They can pick up on the subtlest of cues and say just the right thing to make you go “uhhhhhh . . . did you just read my mind? Or talk to someone who actually knows about all of this and you’re just trying to weasel it out of me yourself?” And then you find yourself floundering around for the right thing to say to make them completely drop the topic. But you fail miserably, and they drop it just to make you feel unawkward again. By now, your heart is beating a million beats a minute and you wonder if you’ve said too much.
Yeah. I don’t like that one bit.
I think it’s actually about being tongue-tied. I hate hate hate stumbling for the right thing to say while my conversation partner watches bemusedly. For someone for whom an excellently made pun can make her day, having that moment in a conversation when the other person is waiting for you to say something witty and clever back and all your mind can think of is some lame variant of “your mom” is pure agony. The world comes to a screeching halt when you realize ” . . . dang it! I left my brain at home today!”
You think the other person can see the sheer panic on your face as meaningless drivel starts to slide off your tongue and hit the air like lukewarm grits sliding off the serving spoon and slapping noisily on the bottom of your bowl, but they can’t. They’re too busy thinking the exact same thing. You’re both too self-absorbed to even realize how much you’re managing to completely enchant each other.
I had to get a tetanus booster shot today for my upcoming internship. And now I want to cry (not really). My arm is really sore, even though I’m trying to move it around a lot and rub it out so I won’t be left armless tomorrow. Boo hoo.
I swear, I will write something real soon. I actually have two separate drafts sitting around right now, waiting for my loving attention. But now I can’t type, so off I go to play some more Snood and annotate some articles for my internship.
I'm a student at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. I graduate in December with a degree in Psychology. I also blog at http://rhesuspeanutbuttercups.blogspot.com, but it's a private blog. This is my random musings blog.
