Here’s looking at ya, kid

This weekend, my roommate’s dad’s friends from Zimbabwe stayed with us.  I was a bit irritated at being evicted from my room, finding my stuff strewn all over the place, and most of all, seeing my poor stuffed ostrich (who usually sleeps in my bed) lying face down on the ground.  NEXT TO SHOES.  Those of you who know me may know that I try not to pick up any shoes with more than two fingers and that one great way to make me panic is to touch my stuff.  DON’T TRY IT.

As I walked into my room to get these awesome antibiotics that I’ve been taking for my ear infection (no more picking my ears with pen caps, I guess), I saw him.  The imperialist who invaded my room.  The criminal who assaulted my ostrich.

“Ah, are you the one who we kicked out for the weekend?”


Just kidding, I didn’t say that.  “Yeahnoworriessorry, just gotta get something real quick.”  I didn’t want this guy to think that I was some loser with an ear infection too and had to take antibiotics that made me very prone to diarrhea.

He fumbled around for his glasses, saying that he wanted to see me better.  Note that I have long droopy eyes, eyelids that obscure most of my eyelashes, knobby knees, protruding bony limbs, a conical head, and enough moles on my face to comprise several constellations.  I told him to save the trouble because I wasn’t that great to look at anyway.

And he only said this: “Everybody is worth looking at.  We all have value.”  It was not such a bad weekend after all.

(I also came home one day to find a sinkful of dishes washed and an entire empire of black mold in the shower absolutely annihilated.  And I sure as hell know that neither I, QJH, or QJH’s girlfriend did it.)


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