…every few years or so, being shocked to relearn that all of the 240,000 baseballs used each season in the major leagues get rubbed with mud before being used in a game. MUD! But not just any mud. They only use a specific mud that comes from a New Jersey riverbank. And the same family has had a monopoly on the harvesting and selling of said mud for over 70 years.
…noticing that my loud, drunk friend had gone uncharacteristically silent while cutting my hair, after having been talked into a rat tail at his insistence. My eyes focusing on a bedroom dresser mirror one room across from the kitchen table where I sat, as it slowly dawned on me that his mute status was due to a violent laughing fit that had bent him over against the wall, gasping for air, as he surveyed his handiwork. He had unilaterally decided my hair wasn’t quite long enough for a satisfying rat tail, so he had elected to shave upwards towards the tops of my ears on either side of my scalp. Giving me what looked like the haircut equivalent of a coonskin cap. Summer school began the following day.
…I’ve always been a hat-wearing kind of guy.