This little girl wanted to know why my hair was red.
I told her it just was.
She asked if I colored it with a marker.
Then if I painted it.
Then if I colored it with a crayon.
Then she gasped to herself and with a mischievous grin asked if it was blood.
No answer I gave her seemed to satisfy her curiosity. She just couldn’t believe that red was a normal hair color.
Laura L. Lyn
A man in Walmart late at night:
“Do you know where I can find some cock?”
“Cock, where can find the cock around here? I really need some cock because my bathtub is leaking around the door.”
Oh. He meant this:
Image Credit: Laura L. Lyn
Caulk. Good thing he threw in that bit about the tub leaking because I almost gave him the name of a bar.
When I was fifteen, I went to New York City for the first time. One evening, when I was picking up some shampoo at CVS, I noticed a guy in the aisle next to me who looked completely confused. He was well-dressed, probably in his early twenties, and standing in the women’s makeup section, clearly out of his element.
Before long, he turned to me and said, “Excuse me, this may be a bit of a strange question, but – could you help me pick out one of these things? My sister’s looking for one of those things girls use to cover up blemishes on their skin. I just want to get her something small as a bit of a present.”
This was pretty surprising to me, not only because I’d heard that New Yorkers don’t really speak nicely to strangers, but also because I hadn’t even washed my face that morning – I couldn’t believe this dude was trusting me with makeup advice.
“Okay, you’re either looking for foundation or concealer,” I ventured with a smile, hoping that some false confidence would make up for my lack of expertise. “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to try it on your skin, though – you really can’t ask your sister to try it first?”
“It’s supposed to be a present,” he said helplessly. “Her skin’s basically the same as mine though.”
So we ended up testing a sample tube of concealer. “What do I do with this?” he said, holding it out towards me in a completely baffled way.
“Just try it on the back of your hand,” I said. I probably sounded even more awkward than he did.
He smeared this tiny little dot into the back of his hand, and then rubbed it in the way you might grind down on a bug you’re trying to kill.
We stared at his hand for a few seconds.
“Hey,” I offered optimistically, “that looks about two skin tones lighter – that’s what the magazines say you should do.” (By “the magazines”, I meant a single page in Teen Vogue that I’d perused at a slumber party a few months prior.) “That should be perfect.”
“Well, thanks so much,” the guy said, with a truly charismatic smile. “What’s your name?”
“Kevin. Thanks for helping me.”
“Sure, anytime – hope your sister likes it.”
And then he checked out and left, and a few minutes later, I did too.
I wonder if Kevin will ever realize that he chose the entirely wrong person to ask for makeup advice. Either way, it was the first time anything of the kind had happened to me, and I still think about it sometimes when I pass by a CVS.