Look, No Hands! .... I Saw Sunday - Week 40

 I Saw Sunday where you can join in with pictures, thoughts, observations, anything you like!

I haven't joined in my lovely sisters I Saw Sunday for a few weeks now, so I kept my eyes open this week for something, and spotted this.

My lovely partner in the front garden, with his back to the road,
weeing ... NO HANDED!

Okay, so we do we live in quite an isolated place, but please!

There he was, bold as brass, one hand on his slouched hip, the other resting on the iron fence, with a steady stream tinkling through the brambles into the field that backs on to our house.

I knocked sharply on the window at him, brow furrowed, gesticulating furiously the way you do when trying to 'shoo' something unwanted from the garden.

But he defiantly stood his ground, obviously mid-stream, his face bearing a look of strained nonchalance.



It crossed my mind that he'd finally lost the plot, until I remembered that our daughter was in the bathroom and her boyfriend was working out in the 'secluded' back garden.

But still I thought.

Okay, so perhaps he really was bursting to go, but what's with the no hands?

When eventually he'd finished and ambled in, I asked.

He snapped his answer, the open-air weeing tension still evident in his tone, "so no-one would know what I was doing!"

Well I suppose it did make sense, and I must admit, although I could see everything from my viewpoint, his slouch hipped casualness would have been impressively convincing from the rear.

I couldn't help thinking though. What on earth would he have done if someone had actually strolled by and stopped for a chat?

It doesn't bear thinking about.

I just can't imagine how he would have got out of it.

It almost makes me want to 'arrange' for the bathroom not to be free again!

Big Head!

There were 4 major incidents as I was growing up that made me aware of the size of my head.

The first was when I was about 5.

I was a real tomboy and loved to climb and venture where I shouldn't, and this day I'd decided to put my head through some railings... like you do.  I'd gauged the gap and feeling confident about its sizing, I'd pushed and pushed, grunting like a pig until finally I did it. I can remember feeling really pleased with myself for about 3 seconds, until I tried to reverse it back out. It was then the realisation hit me ... I was well and truly stuck.
I can remember the look of panic on my Mums face as she fiddled with my ears, pressing them against my head in order to get me free. Looking back, it was obvious that my ears were contributing to the problem, but at that moment, I knew only one thing
... my head was a LOT bigger than I'd thought it was!


The second was when I was about 9 in my middle school.

The whole year were to re-enact a Saxon and Viking battle on the playing field. We all had to make our own axe or sword, our own shield and our own helmet. The teacher set about measuring heads and cutting strips of  cardboard to the right length  then stapling them together. Then we all put paper mache on them, and with our names written proudly inside, we went out to play while they dried.
As we came back into the room and saw all of them lined up on the side, it was obvious that one of them was considerably bigger than the rest.
Karl from the other class shouted ... so everyone could hear.

"Who made that big helmet?"

The teacher quickly responded by reading aloud the name proudly emblazoned inside.

Yes ... you guessed it ... it was me!

This prompted Karl to add

"Your head's MASSIVE!"

My suspicions were well and truly confirmed.

The third incident was as a direct result of the above.

A family head measuring was initiated, which, if I recall correctly, I won. There really wasn't much in it, as it became clear from the measuring where I'd actually gotten my head size.
Genes.
My Dad and my Sister's heads were also generously proportioned.
My Mum on the other hand, although not tiny headed, was not as big as the rest of us. We all had at least an inch on her, and so from this point she was known as 'the pin head'.

The fourth incident was in my teens.

I was in town one Saturday afternoon with my friend and we both decided it would be fun to go and try hats on in Debenhams.
There we stood in front of a huge mirror and an assortment of beautiful hats, and I watched as my much smaller headed friend tried on one hat after the other, all of them framing her face and looking absolutely fantastic on her.
Then it was her turn to watch me.
She stood in absolute hysterics as I tried, or should I say balanced every hat, one after the other Mr.Potato Head style on the top of my head.

All I could hear, apart from her laughing, was Karl's voice from the middle school in my head chanting over and over

"Your head's MASSIVE ... your head's MASSIVE!"

Well there it was, it was conclusive ... I officially had a Carnival Head.


As I grew older and began dating seriously, I just knew that when I eventually settled down with someone, they HAD to have a bigger head than me. I had a few regular size headed boyfriends, which I knew from the start wouldn't work given the size of their head, and then ... I met my lovely partner. Now technically his head, in circumference is one and a half inches smaller than mine, but, and this was the clincher
... his face was MASSIVE!
When I looked in the mirror alongside him, for the first time in my life, I felt like a regular headed person.
Well that was that ... he was a keeper.
20 or so years on, we have a very beautiful, large headed daughter, and as a unit, know that we do give off a sort of carnival vibe.
So
We have an unspoken understanding between us, that if ever the Carnival comes to town ... we stay at home!