Because It's Better To Be Irrational With Me Than Rational With Someone Else ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- \"Stan, Let Me Tell You A Funny Story!!\" �So I call my mom and without saying hi or anything I just scream how i'm about to die and it's the end of the world, and oh my god, the most horrible of horrible things have happened. So the poor woman's bp raises although she knows I'm just being dramatic and it's probably something stupid, like diarrhea, and I do it only to piss her off, so she bears with me here and asks what's causing my death. So I calm down and I ask her to tell me how the hair situation is in our family. Mom is confused and asks to elaborate so I ask, hey mom, when do our folk go bald or grey? On your side, Father's side? You know. When do our hairy genes start to deteriorate, based on historical evidence of the still living family members. She laughs and explains that on both sides hair is in abundance, no balding until at the earliest 60s and roughly no grey hair until at least 50s unless you experience some stressful trauma, but what is causing my death, really child, why the paranoia?! So mom, I say, yesterday at night I was staring at my blonde hair, that I am the only one in the family to have, and I noticed a gray hair, so � don't tell me you ripped it out, she exclaims � so I ripped it out, you know to examine it. Dissect it and all. So I put it on my desk to analyze it the following day once the traumatic experience of finding it wears off. And was it indeed gray? She inquires. And I continue saying how the next day I analyze the hair and upon closer inspection I realize it is just a really blonde hair. So my mom told me, goodness gracious, that's great, let me go and cook dinner now and celebrate you won't die. And she hung up on me.� 12:49 a.m. - May 18, 2011 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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