Skippy is a pansy.
He shaves his beard. Ha. I laugh at his effeminacy.
I let fourteen-year-olds shave my beard and my entire head yesterday.
My children had a 100% pass rate on the Virginia Standard of Learning tests last year. This is not bad, particularly when you consider that many of them are not very proficient in the English language.
I had promised them that they could bare my pate if they studied hard and pulled through. They did and I lived up to my bargain.
My twenty-two month old daughter was a bit puzzled by my looks. When I arrive home, the nightly ritual is for her to run screaming “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” from the living rom and bear hug my legs. She turned the corner of the living room last night and the screaming came to an abrupt halt. She gave me the most hilarious look. Think a toddler’s silent version of “who the heck are you?!” She eventually warmed up to me and spent the rest of the evening rubbing my smooth skull and saying “Uh-oh!”
What really surprised me was the reaction of the cattle. When I went to move them to a new pasture, they were quite standoffish. Normally they run over for scratches and the fresh grass. They initially started off this way - I called them and they came running over. But they skidded to a halt about ten feet away and looked at me dubiously. Finally Bonnie walked over and into the new pasture, but wasn’t interested in any affection. I backed off a bit and the boys eventually followed their herd leader into the new field. Weird stuff. Who knew that cattle pay attention to our hair styles (or lack thereof)?
