ninanevermore (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ninanevermore) wrote2010-01-26 10:12 pm
ninanevermore) wrote2010-01-26 10:12 pm
Entry tags:
Tuesday – Hairy Situations
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Sandy doesn't look like Sandy to me anymore, unless I look closely at her face. Her best feature was always her long dark brown hair, which is now a rather odd shade of blonde. One of her daughters is a cosmetology student and she uses Sandy for practice. Her hair's current artificial yellow color was the result of a brick-red dye job that Sandy didn't like, so her daughter tried to go with a blond to fix it. The red and the blond hair dye colors, when mixed together, made a unique, not-commercially-available-for-understandable-reasons shade of yellow reminiscent of a Crayola crayon. When Sandy takes off her cowboy hat you can see about an inch of her natural salt-and-pepper colored hair growing out of her scalp.
Sandy doesn't mind the yellow color so much. She says when her daughter gets a chance, there's no telling what color her hair will be next.
Sandy is crazy about her animals, some of whom she rescued others she just acquired. One of her small dogs, who was a rescue animal, can't bear to see Sandy leave. I heard what sounded like a creature being tortured, but it turned out to be this dog as Sandy's husband, who I'll just call No. Four, held onto it as Sandy walked away from them. The dog squirmed and cried and howled in grief until Sandy stopped, sighed, and began to walk back toward her. Before she made more than a few steps the dog broke free of No. Four's grasp and leapt to the ground, where she ran at full speed toward Sandy. As the dog got near her, Sandy bend down ever so slightly and the little animal jumped into Sandy's arms as if she had springs in her legs. Sandy laughed and spoke baby talk to the little dog.
"No, her doesn't like to see me leave, does her? No her doesn't! Her's my baby." She tucked the dog into her jacket, where it stayed for the next hour or so.
"The guy we got her from was mean," she said. "He used to grab her by her head like this," she wrapped her hand around the dog's tiny skull like you would pick up a baseball, "and throw her out the front door. Of a trailer, too!" I looked over at Sandy's own trailer and considered how raised off of the ground it was. Being tossed out of one onto the ground would hurt, no matter what size you are.
I commented that it's amazing the dog wasn't mean. I've seen abused animals that never learn to trust people at all.
"She probably would be if he'd had her much longer. She was just a little puppy when we asked if we could have her and got her away from him."
Some of Sandy's animals have been a little unusual, such as one of her foundling cats.
One of the men at the barbeque, Tim, was a friend of No. Four's and Sandy's. He said that one night he was at a bar with a new girlfriend whom he was still getting to know and trying to impress when they ran into Sandy. He introduced Sandy to his girl, whereupon Sandy put her arm around Tim, looked at the girlfriend and asked, "Did he ever tell you about my bald pussy?"
She was talking about a cat she'd found living in the insulation of her trailer who had absolutely no hair. Of all the animals in her menagerie, she said it was the ugliest. It must have been shy, too, because I never saw it while I was there. I'd have remembered something like a bald pussy cat rubbing itself against my legs.
"Tim's face turned about as red as those jeans over there," Sandy said, pointing to a young woman wearing bright red denim pants.
"I didn't even know her that well yet," Tim sputtered, "I had to explain to my girlfriend You just have to know Sandy. She's like that."
"I believe it about him blushing so red," I said in amazement, "Look, he's doing it right now."
Tim blushed a little deeper.
"And because of that night, he's never gonna forget about my bald pussy. Will you, honey?"
"Nope," said the rosy-hued Tim, "It's kind of hard to forget."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
To be continued
.
.
Sandy doesn't look like Sandy to me anymore, unless I look closely at her face. Her best feature was always her long dark brown hair, which is now a rather odd shade of blonde. One of her daughters is a cosmetology student and she uses Sandy for practice. Her hair's current artificial yellow color was the result of a brick-red dye job that Sandy didn't like, so her daughter tried to go with a blond to fix it. The red and the blond hair dye colors, when mixed together, made a unique, not-commercially-available-for-understandable-reasons shade of yellow reminiscent of a Crayola crayon. When Sandy takes off her cowboy hat you can see about an inch of her natural salt-and-pepper colored hair growing out of her scalp.
Sandy doesn't mind the yellow color so much. She says when her daughter gets a chance, there's no telling what color her hair will be next.
Sandy is crazy about her animals, some of whom she rescued others she just acquired. One of her small dogs, who was a rescue animal, can't bear to see Sandy leave. I heard what sounded like a creature being tortured, but it turned out to be this dog as Sandy's husband, who I'll just call No. Four, held onto it as Sandy walked away from them. The dog squirmed and cried and howled in grief until Sandy stopped, sighed, and began to walk back toward her. Before she made more than a few steps the dog broke free of No. Four's grasp and leapt to the ground, where she ran at full speed toward Sandy. As the dog got near her, Sandy bend down ever so slightly and the little animal jumped into Sandy's arms as if she had springs in her legs. Sandy laughed and spoke baby talk to the little dog.
"No, her doesn't like to see me leave, does her? No her doesn't! Her's my baby." She tucked the dog into her jacket, where it stayed for the next hour or so.
"The guy we got her from was mean," she said. "He used to grab her by her head like this," she wrapped her hand around the dog's tiny skull like you would pick up a baseball, "and throw her out the front door. Of a trailer, too!" I looked over at Sandy's own trailer and considered how raised off of the ground it was. Being tossed out of one onto the ground would hurt, no matter what size you are.
I commented that it's amazing the dog wasn't mean. I've seen abused animals that never learn to trust people at all.
"She probably would be if he'd had her much longer. She was just a little puppy when we asked if we could have her and got her away from him."
Some of Sandy's animals have been a little unusual, such as one of her foundling cats.
One of the men at the barbeque, Tim, was a friend of No. Four's and Sandy's. He said that one night he was at a bar with a new girlfriend whom he was still getting to know and trying to impress when they ran into Sandy. He introduced Sandy to his girl, whereupon Sandy put her arm around Tim, looked at the girlfriend and asked, "Did he ever tell you about my bald pussy?"
She was talking about a cat she'd found living in the insulation of her trailer who had absolutely no hair. Of all the animals in her menagerie, she said it was the ugliest. It must have been shy, too, because I never saw it while I was there. I'd have remembered something like a bald pussy cat rubbing itself against my legs.
"Tim's face turned about as red as those jeans over there," Sandy said, pointing to a young woman wearing bright red denim pants.
"I didn't even know her that well yet," Tim sputtered, "I had to explain to my girlfriend You just have to know Sandy. She's like that."
"I believe it about him blushing so red," I said in amazement, "Look, he's doing it right now."
Tim blushed a little deeper.
"And because of that night, he's never gonna forget about my bald pussy. Will you, honey?"
"Nope," said the rosy-hued Tim, "It's kind of hard to forget."
To be continued
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