F U! I am NOT particular!!! And then an old lady grabbed my hair.

So as we know, I can be a little particular.

*shudder*

I hate that word.  Someone broke up with me once and said it was because I was particular.  Now that word carries a sort of revulsion to it.

Usually my inner child immediately retorts "FUCK YOU!  I AM NOT PARTICULAR!!!" inside my head and then I remember things like how I need all my discarded/used cutlery to point in the same direction or I get angsty.

Ok, I AM particular.  And my inner child has a potty mouth.

Where am I going with this?

Well at the last minute today I got invited to tag along to go to the flea market only I hadn't showered yet.

I NEVER LEAVE THE HOUSE without showering and doing my makeup.  It's one of my particular-isms.  But today I got a little crazy adventurous and decided to brave the flea market unwashed and unashamed.

I didn't even brush my hair.

Well, if you know my hair at all, you know I can't brush it anyway.  Brushing long thick curlyish hair makes you look like a doofus...trust me.  So instead I brushed my teeth splashed my face, put some make up on and ran my fingers through my hair to get out the knots.

Oh I put clothes on for those of you wondering.  Just thought I'd clear that up.

Anyhow, off to the flea market we went...as we got closer I noticed that we were going to arrive almost at closing time.  Another particular part of me has a hard time coping with things like this.  I was practically rocking in the backseat with anxiety as we got closer.  In my head was a stream of, "OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD LET IT CLOSE AT 5, OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD!!!!!!!!" mixed in with the song "no more monkeys jumping on the bed".  Hey, even I don't know where that one came from, don't ask...

Luckily the flea market closed later than we thought so we had time to walk around.  I tried a homemade pierogie...it was awesome.  We looked at lots of junk...that in it's own way was also awesome.

But when we got to the second building of the flea market I was walking along and all of the sudden this odd old lady with a leathery face wanders up to me and gasps, "oh your hair is so beautiful I just want to grab it!  The colour is so beautiful!!!"

She wasn't all talk.  She grabbed my hair!  LOL  It was funny though because she sort of realized she'd just grabbed some stranger's hair and let go very quickly but still made pawing sort of motions at my head after.

It's nice to know that even 2 months after dying it, with it unwashed and unbrushed, it still looks ok enough for an odd flea market old lady to grab it.

Although I have to say I was in a store yesterday and the male cashier who seemed to be gay, (not that there's anything wrong with that/Seinfeldism), gave me my receipt and said, "Here you go sweetness, love your hair!!!!".

Ok, so my hair still impresses strange old flea market ladies and young good looking possibly gay guys.

I don't know what to make of this.

Updated:  Upon thinking about it, I would take compliments from a guy I would never have a chance with because I'm the wrong gender over a strange old flea market lady grabbing my hair ANY day of the week.

That is all.