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Saturday, May 15, 2004

Last of the Mohicans

My boyfriend decided to get a mohawk. I considered pitching a fit, because, as a rule, I think mohawks are sad attempts to get people to pay attention to the wearer. Also, because I like his hair the way he had it. But off he went. An hour later, the phone rang.

Me: Hello?
Duane: Heeeey. Is Scott there?
Me: Oh, hey, Duane. He went to get a haircut.
There is a pause.
Duane (tensely): What?
Me: Um...
Duane: Did he say how short?
Me: He said he was getting a mohawk.
Duane (with disbelief): No, he didn't.
Me: Yeah.
Suddenly, I realize why Duane's tense. His movie. Oh, shit. Scott's in his movie, and they've already shot a full day's worth.
Duane: Where. Is. He. Going.

We spend a few frantic minutes looking through the phone book, divide up some numbers, and start calling. Two phone calls later, I hear a car door slam. Scott comes prancing in, grinning, with his haircut. I hold back a grimace.

Me: Um, Duane called.
He goes pale.
Scott: Oh. My. God.

There is much cursing. When he gets Duane on the phone, there is much more.
I try to think of solutions.

Me: You can always wear a hat.
Scott: There has to be a better way.
Me: You could shave Scooby's hair off and glue it to your head.
He grins.
Me: You could wrap your head in a bandage like you have a head injury.
Scott looks at me with what I think is disbelief.
Me: What?
Scott: That's actually not a bad idea.
It's a stupid idea, meant to be a joke, but whatever.
Me: Hey, I'll even provide a real head injury, if it will help.


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