Momma and I were talking yesterday evening on our way home and I remembered something pretty hilarious. I mean, it wasn't hilarious then (yes it was, I was just very mad), but it is thinking back on it now. It all started when Momma mentioned- "It's been so long since I've seen your hair as long as it is, how long has it been?" And of course I was all- "How am I supposed to remember? I can't even remember what I did Tuesday" She said- "It is Tuesday" And I was like- "SEE?!"
But I digress.
Because after we got home and I was cleaning our living room, I remembered. I remembered when the last time my hair was this long. I immediately ran to her and exclaimed- "I remember!!" She was way less enthused than I was (it usually happens like this), but decided to pacify me by asking- "Ok, when?"
Here's my recollection of events:
When I was in third grade there was a boy in my class, that shall remain nameless (but YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, SIR), that was in every way my arch nemesis. Quit laughing, it's true. He was the Joker to my Batman, the Kripke to my Cooper, the Sobriety to my Courtney Love, you get the point. The boy was PURE EVIL. Everyone thought that we were always bickering back and forth, because we had a crush on each other (the whole "boys pick on you when they like you" thing- dumb), but that was entirely untrue. We bickered all of the time, because he was a buttface. And yes, that is what third grade me told him. That he was a buttface. Because I know how to throw a real zinger when it comes to insults (wait until I watched That 70s Show a few years later and first heard the insult- dilhole, and after that made up the phrase- douche canoe).
The point is, that boy was always tormenting me. ALWAYS. I let it go forever, but eventually got fed up with it and one day when he was playing with my pigtails (I always wore pigtails) I turned around and yanked/twisted his ear until he screamed like a girl. Things only went from there, because the next day he cut off one of my pigtails. Yes, just one. ONE PIGTAIL. I had to carry my detached pigtail home, with a note from my teacher for Momma, to tell her that I hadn't done it myself. Of course I hadn't done it myself, I already had feathered bangs and a lisp, how much more ridiculous did I need to look?!
That was the last time my hair was that long, because Momma in turn had to cut the rest of my hair to match and my hair went from almost to my waist to up past my shoulders. I was sad.
BUT not as sad as I was angry. Even though Momma raised me very much to be "don't start fights" "don't provoke" "just walk away" all I could hear when she was talking about "being the bigger person" while cutting my hair was- "blah, blah, blah". Obviously because I was in the middle of plotting my revenge. I didn't want to be the bigger person that time, once again I had had enough. I went to school the next day (with my very short hair) and as soon as I got to my classroom he started laughing and pointing and being mean (I know, you're shocked at this point). I sat down in my desk and tried to ignore him..... for awhile. And then he pulled my hair and the fight was on. And not just that day, but every single day after that. He continued to pick and I continued to fight back.
Eventually our teacher separated us (she had sat us next to each other thinking it was a crush- it wasn't) after he bit me on my leg and then punched me in the eye and I stabbed him in the hand with a pair of scissors and kicked him in the throat (obviously, I kicked his ass and won that fight). Now that I think back on it, I have a hard time believing that they didn't kick us both out of school, but that was before the whole "No Tolerance" policy (damn, I'm glad they've put that in schools).
We learned to deal with each other over the years and as we grew up (and he admitted in junior high that he did have a crush on me), but to this day (almost twenty years later) I am still convinced that he was and is- my arch nemesis.