So .... Little Billy's hair was definitely getting too long.
We were having a hard time finding time to take him to have it cut.
On this one night, I said, "Just come up to my bathroom - I'll cut it. And ... make sure you take off your shirt - don't want to get hair all over your pajamas." and so he did.
He walked into my room ...
Looking like this:
Isn't he cute? That stragley hair? Those skinny little legs and arms? Those CRAZY socks?
I say, "What's up with those socks?"
"I found them in the girls' room -they're cool - they fit on your toes like a glove."
"Oh," I said.
As we were standing in the middle of my bathroom, scissors and comb in my hands and he standing in front of the mirror, he begins to ramble.
"What is up with the lunch ladies, anyways?" he asks, out of the blue.
"What do you mean?"
"Why are they so ... creepy?" he says and can't stop moving around.
"How do you mean - creepy? And, stand still," I insist.
He hesitates for a minute and then says, "Not - beautiful," he giggles.
I laugh.
"I didn't want to say - ugly," he sort of whispers.
"Are they ugly?" I am curious now.
"They are," he exclaims. "They have no teeth - some of them. Or rotten teeth," he wrinkles his brow.
"That's not true of all of them," I insist.
He looks at me seriously, "Yes it is! And ... they don't wear those hair nets anymore and there's always hair in the food."
I'm a bit grossed out. "You don't even buy that much food there - how would you know that?"
"You wouldn't believe the hair I've seen," he is quite the expert now. "And ... you don't want to mess with those ladies, "he goes on, "They are huge!"
I laugh, "Huge?"
"I don't mean like fat. I mean like BIG women," he says. "And I don't mean buff - you know."
"Oh," I say, trying my hardest to make sure that I am paying attention to the hair-cutting job I am supposed to be doing *clip-clip-clip*.
"And, that food," he continues to ramble, "It isn't real food at all anymore. Like that pizza -- it's like clay."
"Like clay?" I wasn't sure I heard him right.
"Yeah, like they slap it down - a big ol' blob of clay and smear tomato sauce on it, put some cheese and pepperoni on it - clay pizza. It's nasty. I only ever eat the pepperoni."
"Okay," I say, brushing the hair off his skinny shoulders and back. He looks at his freshly cut hair in the mirror - seems pleased and then ... he scampers off ... in his multi-colored elf socks - to go to bed.
On the upside ... Aside from the patron wearing the funky socks, no clothes on and lack of a red/white/blue barber pole - I felt just like a barber. And ... No offense to anyone who is or was or knows someone who is or was or wants to be a lunch lady ---- this is probably only a condition common to those ladies that work at Little Billy's school. I'm not even sure I would take his word for all of these observations - he's only 10. And ... you saw his hair - it was most likely his OWN hair that was in his food (highly likely) and ... I'm pretty certain that they are not using clay to make the pizza. That kid - he cracks me up!