Head Scratch Whore

As all things that I will put upon this blog, this is a true story.

I decided today that I should go to the devotional. Not just watch it from one of the many buildings on campus that allow one the convenience of not having to walk all the way to the Marriott Center, but actually make the trek to witness it live. When class ended, Alyssa and I met up with my best friend, Kate, and began our journey. It was to be a journey of fulfillment, enjoyment, and self-control.

We entered the row that my dad, brother, sister, and friends sit in every time we go to the devotionals. After a quick "Hi, Dad" and "Hi, brother, it's been a while" I settled into my seat between Kate and Alyssa. Senhor Burton (Bishop Burton? Elder Burton? I can't know what he's supposed to be called, so we'll go with Senhor, which isn't spelled wrong, it's just Portuguese) was the speaker on this day, and I was actually excited to be there. I really liked his conference talk, so I figured his devotional address would also appeal to me. After the choir's musical number and the prayer, I whipped out a notebook and my Pilot G2 .38 so that I could begin to take notes. Unfortunately, the only thing I remember is that he said he would not be talking about marriage/dating, as per his grandchildrens' requests. Enter the Head Scratch Whore. In the row directly in front of me were 2 males and one female, the female sitting the middle. She had short red hair and small ears, long fingers and reasonably sized nails. Those are the only things I remember about her. As Senhor Burton began to speak, she promptly began to scratch the head of the boy sitting in the chair in front of her. At first I thought, "Oh how nice, they're lovers. I haven't seen enough of those at this school on this day. It's fine." and I was able to ignore them, until....she started scratching the guys head sitting to her right. and then the guy on her left. Could it be? Does she have three lovers, all of whom obviously know about each other? What kinds of people could these be, that sit in front of me? I looked at Kate, and as we often do, we knew what the other was thinking. Kate thought "you should kick her in the head." Due to the nature of the event which we were attending, I grudgingly declined. I suggested through my thoughts that Kate stand up and accidentally hit this vile red head with her back pack. Kate clearly was tempted by this, even laughing a bit, but politely refrained. When red head began her third cycle of head scratching, I looked at Kate, Kate looked at me, and in that instant we knew who this girl was.

The Head Scratch Whore (ok, ok, we didn't know what she should be called. the name was thought up by my roommates later, but that's just what she is.)

For the entire 45 minutes that Senhor Burton was speaking, Head Scratch Whore was scratching heads. or backs. or hands. or feet. Ok, maybe not feet, but I bet she would have been if it didn't require the removal of shoes. It took all the self-control and determination that I could muster to not give in to the subtle mental urgings that Kate was giving me to kick her. At last, it was over. It was a relief to at last have the chance to leave my chair and get away from the incessant scratching. For the entire walk across campus, Kate, Alyssa, and I mocked the Head Scratch Whore. And that is where the enjoyment came in. Call me rude, call me hateful, call me what you will, there are few things that make me laugh as hard as mocking others. Even now, still annoyed by HSW, I can't help but laugh.

The fulfillment, of course, came from the realization that I had enough will power to not kick her.