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When you have a cabinfull of girls all clamoring for one thing that happens to be in your hand, it’s not very fun. This weekend, my mom decided that it would be a fun cabin activity to send, of all things, two tubes of henna fresh from India. One or two girls and I were sitting in the cabin, with nothing to do, so I showed the tube to them and they, not so enthusiastically, agreed. I’m pretty sure the first thing they thought was “Is this illegal?”
I’m not sure why everyone was fixated on drugs that evening. As I went to main camp to get some sugar (which, by the way, is needed for henna), an old lady in a green vest sitting at the edge of camp, strangely alert, yelled at me- “What is that? What is that you’re holding?” I nearly fell over in surprise as the lady rushed over and snatched the cone out of my hand, almost popping it.
“Henna! It’s just henna!”
Her face slowly turned to embarrassment as she read the label (which I admit, looked really sketchy) and she quickly turned her mistake into “That’s neat- I’ve never seen it packaged like that!”
It probably also looked sketchy when I was mixing the sugar with some water with a paper funnel, but hopefully, I was the only one who thought that.
Unfinished
People ask me all the time what it will be like living without otters. I usually answer that we’ll have a lot less cute pictures in the world. Have you ever seen those Youtube videos with the otter cracking open an oyster on a rock? It’s the cutest thing alive.
Random.
People ask me all the time if I see dead people wherever I go. I’m not sure what in my article warrants this question- I often just assume that it’s just biological magnification, like in a food chain. It proves that they haven’t actually read the article- just read a blog entry about it, or Wikipedia’d it. To answer their question- no. I don’t see dead people. But if you believe everything you read, I’m surprised you’re not seeing them by now. No, I don’t see dead people. I just thought I saw someone walking around my house- a girl in a white nightdress, coughing. And I thought that it was a ghost.
I’m also not sure why they believe me. I mean, it’s nice to be believed. But there are hundreds of ghost sightings that never get any attention. I don’t know what is more credible about my story than the others. I have film, it’s true, but film is as easily faked as photos are.
Unfinished
She stepped into my door, dressed in dull black leggings and a dull black leather coat. She was deathly pale, with ratty black hair and she always looked cold. She shut the door to her car (black) and clicked, tapped her black leather boots up the frozen cement steps. I had never seen her without her black attire- every week, she would knock on our door and stand there, huddling, no matter if the air was melting or frozen. Without fail, the doorbell would ring at nine every Saturday morning. My little brother would go hide under the bed. I would groan and pretend to type, engrossed in my work, for a fictional test the next day. She wasn’t a bad person at all, no matter what her appearances dictated- very sweet, and funny. She loved young kids, and only recently stopped wearing a potent perfume that made me gag. She was patient- that was the best thing about her. She understood the way that I had learned piano- the wrong way- and attempted to correct it, gently, gently coaxing my mind to remember the piece, not my fingers on the slick zebra keys. I used to think she could read my mind- she knew when I was stressed, when my own friends and family didn’t, and gave me less work to do. I only wish I could read hers- the stories she must be able to tell! The only snippet I am allowed to hear- she was a ballet dancer for Phantom of the Opera. What happened next, I never knew and never will.
Finished
And then, he spontaneously combusted.
No- really. He spontaneously combusted.
It wasn’t a laughing matter at all- not nearly as funny as it sounds. It all started Wednesday afternoon. He and I were sitting, watching a movie; eating popcorn. Now that I think back on it, he probably ate a little too much- I should have stopped him. But seeing as he skipped dinner, I figured he was a little hungry. So I didn’t comment. A bad mistake. It led to his undoing, and I regret it deeply.
There wasn’t anything wrong when I left that night after the movie. He waved goodbye like always, the door swinging shut. Nothing was wrong on Thursday, either. Much. I didn’t see him till
unfinished
I’m not sure why everyone was fixated on drugs that evening. As I went to main camp to get some sugar (which, by the way, is needed for henna), an old lady in a green vest sitting at the edge of camp, strangely alert, yelled at me- “What is that? What is that you’re holding?” I nearly fell over in surprise as the lady rushed over and snatched the cone out of my hand, almost popping it.
“Henna! It’s just henna!”
Her face slowly turned to embarrassment as she read the label (which I admit, looked really sketchy) and she quickly turned her mistake into “That’s neat- I’ve never seen it packaged like that!”
It probably also looked sketchy when I was mixing the sugar with some water with a paper funnel, but hopefully, I was the only one who thought that.
Unfinished
People ask me all the time what it will be like living without otters. I usually answer that we’ll have a lot less cute pictures in the world. Have you ever seen those Youtube videos with the otter cracking open an oyster on a rock? It’s the cutest thing alive.
Random.
People ask me all the time if I see dead people wherever I go. I’m not sure what in my article warrants this question- I often just assume that it’s just biological magnification, like in a food chain. It proves that they haven’t actually read the article- just read a blog entry about it, or Wikipedia’d it. To answer their question- no. I don’t see dead people. But if you believe everything you read, I’m surprised you’re not seeing them by now. No, I don’t see dead people. I just thought I saw someone walking around my house- a girl in a white nightdress, coughing. And I thought that it was a ghost.
I’m also not sure why they believe me. I mean, it’s nice to be believed. But there are hundreds of ghost sightings that never get any attention. I don’t know what is more credible about my story than the others. I have film, it’s true, but film is as easily faked as photos are.
Unfinished
She stepped into my door, dressed in dull black leggings and a dull black leather coat. She was deathly pale, with ratty black hair and she always looked cold. She shut the door to her car (black) and clicked, tapped her black leather boots up the frozen cement steps. I had never seen her without her black attire- every week, she would knock on our door and stand there, huddling, no matter if the air was melting or frozen. Without fail, the doorbell would ring at nine every Saturday morning. My little brother would go hide under the bed. I would groan and pretend to type, engrossed in my work, for a fictional test the next day. She wasn’t a bad person at all, no matter what her appearances dictated- very sweet, and funny. She loved young kids, and only recently stopped wearing a potent perfume that made me gag. She was patient- that was the best thing about her. She understood the way that I had learned piano- the wrong way- and attempted to correct it, gently, gently coaxing my mind to remember the piece, not my fingers on the slick zebra keys. I used to think she could read my mind- she knew when I was stressed, when my own friends and family didn’t, and gave me less work to do. I only wish I could read hers- the stories she must be able to tell! The only snippet I am allowed to hear- she was a ballet dancer for Phantom of the Opera. What happened next, I never knew and never will.
Finished
And then, he spontaneously combusted.
No- really. He spontaneously combusted.
It wasn’t a laughing matter at all- not nearly as funny as it sounds. It all started Wednesday afternoon. He and I were sitting, watching a movie; eating popcorn. Now that I think back on it, he probably ate a little too much- I should have stopped him. But seeing as he skipped dinner, I figured he was a little hungry. So I didn’t comment. A bad mistake. It led to his undoing, and I regret it deeply.
There wasn’t anything wrong when I left that night after the movie. He waved goodbye like always, the door swinging shut. Nothing was wrong on Thursday, either. Much. I didn’t see him till
unfinished
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