When the truth isn't entertaining enough.
I got a haircut last week. That's not usually a big deal, but this was an especially bad haircut.
Let me back up. I usually keep my hair pretty long. Five or six inches is normal, and combed back. It's all most of my co-workers and many of my friends have ever seen. A couple weeks ago, I came down with an impressively bad case of dermatitis (scalp acne for those plebeians in the crowd). After being aggravated by some really warm weather causing me to sweat into my hair and break into a rash, I decided I'd had enough. My hair was too long, and I couldn't get to a barber. So I took matters, and hair clippers, into my own hands. Suffice it to say, not my finest hour.
The interesting part of this story is not the haircut per se (and no, I'm not going to post pics), but rather the reactions of people around me. As is human nature, nearly every person that has seen the haircut has asked the same dumb question. And what better way to answer a stupid question, than with a smart-ass answer?
My first day at work, meeting Co-worker #1:
CW1: Hey, what happened to your hair?
Pi: Tragic lawnmower accident.
Co-worker #2 joins the conversation about this point.
CW2: Whoa, what did you do to your hair?
Pi: I'm learning to juggle chainsaws. I'm not very good at it yet.
CW1 busts out laughing.
An hour or so later, we had a team meeting, and I had to take my new do in to see my whole team. As expected, my manager asks about my hair.
Pi: This is what happens when you give a cat a bath, but forget to wear a helmet.
The week goes on much like this, with each new person getting a different story, from the warning "When they say not to use around open flame, they're not kidding.", to the peremptory "Low ceiling fan."
Forward to this weekend, we spent the time at my parents' place. The most satisfying reaction to date came from my father.
Dad: Wow. How'd you get that haircut?
Pi: Skydiving. Went through the propeller.
Dad: Lucky it only got your hair.
Well, eventually, my mother took matters into her own hands and fixed the damage I did. The hair is now really, really short, but as I noted at the time, I no longer "look like I walked through a knife-throwing contest."
Any one of those explanations is more entertaining than the truth, and everybody walked away satisfied with their answer, even if it wasn't the one they thought they'd get. I haven't had so much fun LAMOJ in a long time.