Harry had always wanted to deregulate the beautician industry.
He wasn't sure why.
But he was sure why he wasn't sure why, because:
- he wasn't a beautician
- he didn't work in the beautician industry
- he didn't know any beauticians
- he wasn't interested in meeting any beauticians
- he wasn't interested in learning about what beauticians do
- he thought the word 'beautician' sounded harsh and unpleasant
- like clinical and possibly even medical
- if it was medical he didn't want to get what ever disease you'd have to get to require getting beauticianed
- and how would they even inform you that you needed it?
- 'we've looked at your test results, do you have a will?'
- that just sounds horrible
- and he found horrible sounding things unpleasant
- and feeling unpleasant fed into his bitter distaste of the apple picking 'for fun' movement.
- because it often involved whistling, humming, and other mouth noises occasionally associated with enjoyment
- which reminded him of the fact that as a small boy his father was whistling when he chopped down the tree that he had once coveted building a tree house in
- and in that tree house he was planning on one day cutting open the dead baby hawk that he had found behind the school playground
- and was keeping fresh in the home freezer in a tuppaware labeled 'moms casserole'
- something no one wanted to eat
- because mom had run off with the paperboy seventeen years earlier
- so this would have to be REALLY old casserole
- plus it wasn't in there for the first sixteen years she was gone
- so it might even be a tad moldy
- plus the paper boy still delivered the paper with a daily wad of spit on the main headline
- he was the one who stole a married women, why was he pissed off?
- and so now because of these fucking beauticians Harry didn't acquire tree house building skills, doesn't know what the inside of a baby hawk looks like, and associates even the happiest of news headlines with phlegm
- which is another word he finds harsh and unpleasant
- because it was a throat full of phlegm that kept him from picking apples for fun that one time
- meaning he had to get paid for it instead
- a job he's now held for twelve years and finds mildly unpleasant in stormy weather
- because when there's thunder he can't hear himself whistle
- and also he didn't know what 'deregulation' means
But 'at least I have a goal' he'd think.
And isn't that really what life is all about?