I was at the shisha bar yesterday swapping lies with my neighbor. It's not the same one whose brother is on the run from the cops for running his hand up the skirts of vulnerable old women. I don't hang around with sex predators any more. It's the one who was busted for benefits fraud after saying his wife of fifteen years was just his sister and his five kids were not the fruits of his loins so he could milk the system. He's not perfect, but he's an angel compared to the other FOBs in our circle.
Those of us who fled the war back home as fully grown adults are too mentally wrecked to lead a pristine moral life, so spare me your legalisms. Anyway, Abdisamed and I were puffing on the noble pipe and chewing some quality bundles of leaves from the qaat fields of Harar when he sprung a surprise on me. He said "aboowe I want to dye my hair. I reckon I need a new look. Maxaa ka qabtaa?"
He was going through a dry patch romantically these days, so he figured he needed to freshen things up a little. I was thinking, How can a senior citizen like Abdi from whose well oiled bidaar sun rays bounce like a trampoline dye his hair? His hair has done all the dying it needs already after the great follical genocide of 1989. We both suffered the culling in the same year.
But he had news for me. "I'm not talking about the timo on my head ninyahow" he said. "I'm talking about dying my pubic hair. I heard xalimos really dig it. Gonna put some henna on it like those old FOBs you see who dye their beard red. You know what they say: if you're red on top, you're red below the belt." Unbelievable.
Well, I guess painting it the color of flames is bound to set a pensioner's love life on fire. Imagine getting fiery pubes in your face when you go down on the man. Is this the kind of thing dhoocilo are into these days?
Those of us who fled the war back home as fully grown adults are too mentally wrecked to lead a pristine moral life, so spare me your legalisms. Anyway, Abdisamed and I were puffing on the noble pipe and chewing some quality bundles of leaves from the qaat fields of Harar when he sprung a surprise on me. He said "aboowe I want to dye my hair. I reckon I need a new look. Maxaa ka qabtaa?"
He was going through a dry patch romantically these days, so he figured he needed to freshen things up a little. I was thinking, How can a senior citizen like Abdi from whose well oiled bidaar sun rays bounce like a trampoline dye his hair? His hair has done all the dying it needs already after the great follical genocide of 1989. We both suffered the culling in the same year.
But he had news for me. "I'm not talking about the timo on my head ninyahow" he said. "I'm talking about dying my pubic hair. I heard xalimos really dig it. Gonna put some henna on it like those old FOBs you see who dye their beard red. You know what they say: if you're red on top, you're red below the belt." Unbelievable.
Well, I guess painting it the color of flames is bound to set a pensioner's love life on fire. Imagine getting fiery pubes in your face when you go down on the man. Is this the kind of thing dhoocilo are into these days?
but I've died my hair once or twice
