This morning D made us a nice breakfast of french toast and sausage. Okay, the sausage had been cooked the day before, but the french toast was fresh and excellent. We were sitting there happily masticating when suddenly I cocked my head at a sound the bunnies were making, turned back to look at D and saw a look of unabashed glee on her face. She grinned impishly at me, gestured, and announced happily "You're going grey!"
Gee, thanks.
The woman rushed to the washroom, grabbed her tweezers, and plucked out the offending hair to show me. And the one beside it. I think she was making room for more grey hairs, so that she wouldn't be alone in aging. I fully expect to wake up some day to find her plucking hairs on my head in order to promote the advance of grey onto my scalp.
At least now when people point out the male pattern baldness that's also creeping its way onto my head, I can justify it by pointing out the grey hair as well.
I have reasons for going grey, however. I think this blog itself stands as testiment to one of the main reason; a short, maniacal reason that plagues me daily, but to whom I am shackled. There are other reasons.
One of our big stresses at the moment is attempting to rid ourselves of our apartment. We had to close very quickly on our new home and were unfortunately still in lease for our apartment, a lease from which it is proving extremely difficult to extricate ourselves. We've resorted to posting ads on Kijiji, and we get lots of replies to these ads, but so far no one has actually taken the damnable thing off our hands.
Many of the replies cause me considerable anguish. I've taken care to state quite specifically several points. Firstly, the rent includes heat and water. No pets are allowed. The apartment is available immediately. The apartment is located close to Bayers and Connaught. These are the sorts of replies I mainly get:
"Is this apartment still available?"
"Pets allowed? Y/N?"
"Where is the apartment?"
"I have a cat. Is this okay?"
"When is the apartment available?"
"Can you tell me where the apartment is?"
"What's included in the rent?"
"Does the rent include power? Heat?"
"I was wondering about the apartment."
The last one's my goddamned favourite. I cleaned up the grammar a bit to make the responder not sound like such a complete and total moron, but I have to ask: WHAT were you wondering about the apartment? Did you want to know if it's green, or inhabited by magical fairy bugbears who will give you cookies if you learn how to dance? Can you host key parties and invite your drunken leprous biker friends? TELL ME!!! It's like human beings have lost the capacity to read whole sentences. They see I have an ad, that it's for a two bedroom apartment, and read no further. Is it that difficult to go over the whole text of the ad? In its entirety it is shorter than this paragraph has been!
I weep for these people. It must be difficult for them to get through life. It goes some way to explaining Haligonian drivers, though. They see the big red octagonal sign in front of them, try to read it, get tired after "STO" and figure whatever it says it can't possibly apply to them and so drive right on through. They even seem to have trouble reading the colours of street lights, as though they can't be bothered to investigate anything that's flashy and colourful that won't also help them increase their penis size (although, to be fair to these people, they probably read "increase their pen" and think "Yeah, mine's running outta ink; why not?")
I'm also concerned about the kids across the street. The ones who appear to have passed puberty but haven't quite hit the stage of not-being-assholes. There's quite a large cluster of them, and they gather right at the entrance to the public housing across from us on their bikes like an imitation biker gang, yelling loudly into the night and wrecking any street signs that come within reach. I wonder if they walk around all day swinging their arms, and the moment they touch something solid decide that it needs to be vandalized in some way. If I can give them any kudos, it would be that they seem to be racially inclusive, so as a gang of misfits they are very accepting. Fantastic. Now we can have hope that in the future, people of all colours and shapes can get together in harmony to smash beer bottles and set off firecrackers that detonate like car bombs in the early morning hours.
The young boy who lives in the house behind us just got his first bike and is learning to ride it with training wheels. I wonder if his parents have made a mistake. The jackals across the street probably see him as a future member. Their only requirement appears to be the ability to not fall off a bike, and it's not a particularly strict requirement anyway.
My lawn continues to grow. At this point it's claimed our patio set. I can still see the top of the table, but had to dig to find one of the chairs. Halifax weather is uncooperative when it comes to lawn mowing. We haven't seen the sun for a week and a half.
D just told me the other day there could be earwigs in our laundry, after having hung it up to "dry" in the rain.
I think a few grey hairs are just the beginning.
