The Day it Rained Q-Tips I Fell in Love.

I met her in a strange way, on what must have been right up there as one of the strangest days I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing in this lifetime.

What happened that might make me say the day was... odd? How's this grab you: it rained Q-tips. I shit you not, it rained cotton swabs from the sky from 9:16 until 10:01 standard time. Now, whether there was some kind of logical scientific explanation or not, when you see thousands of little white sticks fall from the sky on a Monday morn, it leaves a certain impression on you about what you can expect the next 24 hours to be like.

Somehow, the mornings events after the cottony shower went without much conversational attention. No one I bumped into spoke of it, like it was some brand new, grand new taboo, fresh and moist and banned from our lips. And I did bump into a lot of people performing my morning rounds for work. I talked to a girl I hadn't seen since grade 5 about frogs and the environment. I spoke to a man who had a bright red macaw on his shoulder on the topic of drums and jungle life (at one point I remarked how I thought drums were better than cell phones, to which the man stroked his long beard and his parrot, named Confucius, called me a 'rat-bastard cheese'). I had a conversation with the mayor himself on a street corner about the process of photosynthesis, and we both agreed that humans, to a degree, are also reliant on the process. Each conversation seemed completely sane and rational at the time, of course.

But I suppose I should fast forward slightly to Doreen. I went to the olde piercing parlour on Rue St., for no particular reason after leaving the carpet store, which I somehow browsed for over 2 hours with a man talking about denim and the Crusades. So I opened the door and the chimes jingled in the window . I looked at the wall on my left. I looked at the wall on my right. I looked at the pretty girls on the covers of the tattoo magazines. I looked at the left wall, the right wall, and walked towards the counter. I stood there for a brief five minutes and then she popped up from below the counter line, as if she had been hibernating under there.

Her mouth was stuffed with banana mush, the origin of which she held still in the peel in her right hand. She wore a black plassssstic hairband with red devil hornsssss on it over her electric red hair. She looked at me with the expression dogs sometimes get when confronted with great mysteries like June bugs or missing chew-toys. She chewed, swallowed, stuffed her face and repeated. Then she leaned over the counter and... sniffed me. That seemed to make her content, as she chewed, swallowed and stuffed again. Likewise, I leaned over and sniffed her, stole a bite off her banana and was pleased.

Then I spoke to her.

"Do you have... the... industrial barbell?" I said, placing emphasis on all the wrong syllables. I blinked three times and she finished her banana while we stared at one another. She started to peel another banana which she produced from under the counter in strange jerky movements.

"I just... can't... get enough bananas," she replied, and it felt like it was the response I was looking for, because I nodded my head. "Let me ask Deirdre." She continued and turned away from me. But then she stopped and turned back towards me, grasped my forearm, curled my fingers and left her banana in my care. I smiled, and she smiled back and turned away to go find 'Deirdre' through the doorway at the back. I took a bit of the banana, and it was the best fucking banana bite I'd ever been exposed to. I gave it the thumbs up with my free hand. It deserved it. Doreen, the countergirl, walked back through the doorway. She was gorgeous. Dyed red hair, flawless pierced skin, and eyes that were haunting enough to also be breathtaking. She looked... wary of me.

"She can pierce you today, 2:30." she said shortly, and snatched her banana back out of my hand. Her fingers were short and stubby and adorned with silver rings.
"No." I said. I became frustrated for some reason. "I just want the barbell. I'll pierce it myself." She closed her eyes and opened her mouth in a way that made me feel like we were 6 years old.
"No," she said. "You get it done here or you can't buy it." She finished the banana, rolled up the peel on the counter and tossed it over her shoulder.
"Why?" I asked and stomped my foot.
"Because! ...safety?" The question seemed to be to herself. I looked at her very plainly and asked her what the real reason was. She began to wipe under her nose compulsively.
"That... is... the real... reason. What do you think... the... reason is?" That made me angry. She was getting mad too, and began to chomp her banana, rather than simply cram it into her mouth as before. Her chewing was angry and very pronounced and noisy.
"I know what the reason is," I whispered loudly to her.
"It's safety!" she cried, with a mouthful of mush. A piece hit me above the eyebrow and stuck there. "Hepatitis! You could get... hepatitis! Or do it... wong, er, wrong! And it could hurt. We'll pierce you." She slid open the counter/display case and extracted a barbell with caution, like it was radioactive, and set it on the countertop.
"Look, just say what the real reason is, at least." I hissed.
"And what is the real reason?" But she knew. She had to.
"Payola! You want the extra $40 it costs for you to pierce it. The $40 I don't have! And you think I'm gay!" It didn't make sense, but I said it anyway.
"You think I'm gay! And no... it's not... money." she replied, almost sulking.
"Look..." I said. "Look..." I paused. "Look! You can stand there all high and mighty, all hot and sexy with your piercings and tattoos and dyed hair and collar... but you don't get it. You can pretend you're PuNk til you're blue in the face and shout 'AnArChY!!' til your voice cracks into a million pieces, but you're a servant to the dollars. You a wench to cash and you're a disgrace to anyone who has ever heard a Dead Kennedys song by standing there wearing that patch and telling ME that you're concerned about MY health when I know you just want to vaccuum the cash out of my pocket! I've had my shots and I wouldn't put my body in any danger because it is MY body! Safety?! There's kids out there jabbing themselves with safety pins and you want to cry safety?! YOU WORSHIP CASH. YOU ARE NOT PUNK."

And with that her jaw dropped open and a healthy hunk of banana fell out on the counter glass, right next to the radioactive barbell. She blinked once... twice... thrice and then physically closed her mouth with her hand. She turned her head, but not beyond the angle where her eyes left the gaze of mine. She yelled to the back door,
"Hey Deirdre..."
A voice from the back called out,
"What?"
to which Doreen replied,
"I fucking quit!"

She picked up the barbell in one hand and took my arm in the other, after setting down her banana.
"I fucking hate bananas." she said, and put the piercing in my hand. I nodded and smiled,
"Me too," I said. She leaned over the counter to sniff me again.
"I knew it," she said under her breath, and then she kissed me full on the lips.
"What are you doing tonight?" she asked, her nose touching mine.
"I don't know," I said, breathless.
"I do," she said, "...me."

And so we fell in love the day it rained Q-tips.

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