Time to Over-share.

This morning, when I woke up, I deliberately didn't brush my hair.  Partly out of complete and utter laziness, and partly because I wanted to test the boundaries in my new living arrangement.  Testing boundaries is my favourite.  It's on my resume under interests, next to shark poking and pole vaulting.  So I lurked downstairs, saving my scary hair for ManFriend, who was upstairs being good at something.

As an aside - a summary of the two of us.  ManFriend = good or completely amazing at things.  T = comically not good or exceptionally bad at things. 

While I was lurking, I took photos of the hair, because it was impressive and something I felt the rest of the world was missing out on.  You'll notice tomorrow that it will have gone remarkably unreported on, much like Occupy Wall Street was subject to a media black out.  

Head Swirler over-shares, and tries to
compensate by appearing charming.

Head Swirler sneezes then holds face for photo.

It looks like I was swirling my head on my pillow.  I wonder if head swirling is a medical condition, like sleep apnea?  As in, "Well George, I didn't sleep well at all last night, as I have an extreme case of head swirling."  That sentence seems unlikely, mostly because I don't know anybody named George.

So, anyway, back to the lurking.  I nearly forgot, I was skulking too.  When I heard his feet on the stairs, I shifted slightly couch and scratched in eager anticipation.  Oh, if only I could have that anticipation back!  All my hopes of inciting disgust, or at least a comment about letting ones self go, were completely dashed.  He failed completely to react in a satisfactory manor. 

Instead, he looked at me casually for about 5 seconds, then let out a long fart that sounded like an angry goose playing a trumpet.  Kind of hissy with a brassy finish. 

Well played, ManFriend, well played. 

T.