Today, I am thankful for the highschool education that allowed me to see the humor alongside the worry when I read a blog comment in which someone had confused the word "Stocker" (person who stocks, or puts things on shelves in a store) with "Stalker" (person who follows someone to work or watches 'em through binoculars while hiding in the shrubbery). Someone saw a photo, and then typed "Is it stocker-ish if I get my hair cut like yours?"
Is it stocker-ish? Would that haircut make you want to be sure all the shampoo bottles were pushed to the front edge of the shelves? Would it make you get that motor oil out of the greeting card aisle and take it back to the automotive department where it belongs? Would it make you double-check the saltine crackers just to be sure that your co-worker, the dumb stocker, didn't put the macaroni-n-cheese on the wrong shelf again?
I am also thankful for the college ecucation that allows me to see the humor (and the psychology) behind the creepiness of finding out that my stalker got a job at a little store right here in my hometown.
I am thankful for the cartoon lightbulb that just came on over my head -- heh heh -- Talkin' about haircuts and my stalker in the same post! Hey, it does all tie together! At nearly sixty years old, she's got Mall Bangs and a Mullet; every time I see her hair-glow through the front window of the store, I can't help but wonder if she's stuck in 1991, or if she's just goin' for the full-on butch look.
Is my stalker stalker-ish enough to read my site? Is my stalker computer-literate at all? Does my stalker know that I saw her following me all those times? Does my stalker know just how many people I told about her puttin' that sugar into the gas tank of my little white ragtop? Does my stalker know just how many times I re-played that voicemail message, hitching and snorting and giggling? Does my stalker know about the huge laugh my friends (including an actual stocker who worked at Wal-Mart) and I had after she called me on the phone that night?
Because it's the Holiday Season, and because I know she can't help being who she is, I say "Happy Holidays, Stalker!"
Of course, part of the reason for that is the old-fashioned Southern Baptist experience, which along with my education has taught me that "Die, B!tch, Die!" just doesn't fit with the Holiday Spirit.
Ah, the old-fashioned Southern Baptist experience... I'd considered writing about that whole OJ mess or the Kramer incident; both of which I have fairly strong opinions on -- but college put enough liberalism into me to convince me not to go into that here.
Not just yet, anyway...
More Later! _\,,/