This is kind of gross, but I have to make sure that this story goes further than just me. I was telling my friend at work about my hair-woes today, and she told me that when she was recovering from chemo a few years ago and was unable to walk, she would sit in bed, watching TV, obsessively combing hair with her hands, and collecting the hair. Which she then felted into a hamster shape, and glued googly eyes on. God, I love working with her. I was appalled, but I also just about bust a gut laughing. That story really cheered me up, because though I might feel wretched at the thought that I may be losing my hair, in a few weeks I could have my very own hair-hamster. (Blogger is being a little bitch about posting pictures, which means I can't post the picture I found of - non-human hair - felted hamster. It's worth taking a moment to go and Google it though. Go ahead, I'll wait. Back? Good)
I'm going to be sad to leave my current job, mainly because I really get along well with this woman.
Yesterday she was showing me pictures of a Turducken she made last Christmas. But it wasn't enough for her to just ram various pieces of poultry into the orifices of a larger bird, oh no. She detached the drumsticks and wings from the duck and chicken, and used skewers to attach them to the turkey so that what she ended up with was a nightmarish six-limbed avian creature that would have looked perfectly at home in an illustrated edition of the collected stories of H.P. Lovecraft. It looked utterly horrifying, and yet strangely alluring.
Last week she was saying that she wants to get married a second time, and have a cheese themed wedding. If I didn't already think she might actually be my birth mother, this alone would probably convince me. Her dream cheese wedding would be held in Bega, every course would feature cheese, and the cake would just be wheels of cheese balanced one on top of the other (I seriously considered that for my own wedding, but I was eventually talked out of it - apparently not everyone loves brie as much as me).
Yesterday she was showing me pictures of a Turducken she made last Christmas. But it wasn't enough for her to just ram various pieces of poultry into the orifices of a larger bird, oh no. She detached the drumsticks and wings from the duck and chicken, and used skewers to attach them to the turkey so that what she ended up with was a nightmarish six-limbed avian creature that would have looked perfectly at home in an illustrated edition of the collected stories of H.P. Lovecraft. It looked utterly horrifying, and yet strangely alluring.
Last week she was saying that she wants to get married a second time, and have a cheese themed wedding. If I didn't already think she might actually be my birth mother, this alone would probably convince me. Her dream cheese wedding would be held in Bega, every course would feature cheese, and the cake would just be wheels of cheese balanced one on top of the other (I seriously considered that for my own wedding, but I was eventually talked out of it - apparently not everyone loves brie as much as me).
And the pièce de résistance? A cheese dress. She's got it all picked out, and all she needs is a bloke.
I might have to ask Jo for a divorce just so I can marry him again, but this time in the dress of my dreams. Maybe being friends with this woman is enough to make me want to ask to stay on when my contract finishes... probably not. But then that's why we have the internet, so that the people in our lives that we take a liking to are stuck with us.
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