In Disguise

I have to tell you this weird thing that happened over the weekend.

Okay.

Sunday afternoon my wife and I went over to my grandmother’s house for a visit. Well, it turns out my aunt and cousin were there, too. And were all just talking and visiting and everything and then I mentioned that we had gone to The Shins concert on Friday.

Oh, yeah, how was that?

Good. I’ll tell you about it in a sec.

Okay.

So my cousin—her name is Tammy—raises her eyebrows and gets this funny look on her face. And I’m thinking, “Oh, she must know The Shins.” And I’m about to ask her when she says, “The Skins?” And I said, “No, The Shins.” You know, easy enough mistake for someone who doesn’t know the band, right?

Right.

Well, then she says, “Oh, I thought you said ‘The Skins.’ I thought it was some skinhead band.”

Hah. Right.

Yeah, no kidding. So I laugh and say, “Yeah, I hit the clubs and hang out with skinheads on Friday nights, you know.” And my wife and I are laughing but no one else is, really. They’re just kind of looking at me. And my cousin—whom I have known and had fairly regular social contact with basically my entire life—goes, “Well…you know…I just thought with your shaved head and all….” And then for a second there was this kind of weird feeling in the room. And I’m just laughing but then I kind of stop. And I say to my cousin, “Do you think I’m a skinhead?” And she just kind of shrugs her shoulders and gives me this awkward smile and says, “You do shave your head.”

What!?

I know. And my cousin is, like, 40, right? So she’s no spring chicken. She knows—or I guess should know.

Exactly!

Well I’m just…confused, to be honest. And it’s happening so fast I don’t know what to say. I just keep thinking, “She has to be kidding!”

Yeah!

Nope. She’s not kidding.

(Laughs.)

So I’m laughing a little bit, uncomfortably, and looking at my wife. And my cousin says again, “Well, you do shave your head,” like she’s trying to convince me that I’m a skinhead—like I wouldn’t know it, you know? Like I was eating a hot dog and she was telling me I got some mustard on my chin, or something. “Hey, cuz’, your shaved head makes you a bigot.” “Oh, right, I must be a Nazi. Thanks for straightening that out for me!”

No kidding!

So I said, as frankly as possible, “I’m losing my hair. I shave my head because I don’t have very much hair on my head.” And you’d think that’d suffice, right?

Right.

Well, she says, “It looks like you have a lot of hair. Only it’s shaved.” And then my wife kicks in and says, very bluntly, “He’s losing his hair. He’s going bald. That doesn’t automatically make him a skinhead.” And my cousin just kind of shrugs it off. She never really said anything to make me feel like she doesn’t firmly believe I’m a skinhead.

Wow. How do you go on after that?

Well, it was strange. I spent the rest of the night trying way too hard to convince everyone that I’m a compassionate, sensitive, socially gifted person.

Which you’re not.

Right. Well, then it came time to leave. And it got weird again.

Oh, yeah?

And I stand up and give my grandmother a hug. And I was going to leave it at that, you know? I mean, I’m not really into just handing out hugs shotgun style. One really has to earn a hug from me. It’s got to mean something. Well, after I hugged my grandmother I was turning to leave and my aunt stands up and says, “I’ll do the hard part,” and she stood up and walked over to me with her arms open. So I hugged her. Then she turned around and said to my grandmother, “I knew he wasn’t going to hug me so I had to get up and go over and make him.”

Ouch.

I know. But then I knew I was going to have to hug my cousin because I’d hugged everyone else from here to Mars, right? I can’t just snub her.

Right. You have to give her some love.

Right. So I walk over and hug her and she gives me this strange, close, very, very breasty hug.

Huh?

I don’t know—that’s the only way I can describe it. It was very breasty. It was like a hug and a half with a slow shake. It made me very embarrassed. I just turned around and walked out of the house. In fact, I haven’t even told my wife about it.

Man that is so weird.

I know!

Maybe that was just her way of apologizing for calling you a skinhead.

Maybe.

Or maybe she has a crush on you.

Oh, okay.

So would you rather be a skinhead or a cousin-lover?

Uh….

C’mon quick. Don’t think about it just answer.

Well, do you mean cousin-lover in general or cousin-lover with cousin Tammy?

Any cousin.

Does it have to be my cousin?

Of course, you idiot.

I guess a cousin-lover. I've got some hot cousins on my mom's side. Plus, I don’t hate anyone and I certainly couldn’t incite violence on someone I don’t know because they’re black or gay or religious or whatever. I’ve never even thrown a punch at someone in my life.

I wonder if skinheads ever run into this problem, you know? They’re at a family reunion or something and someone says, “Cousin Johnny, seems like you’ve been shaving your head ever since your trip to Northern Idaho. Any particular reason?” And then he’s forced to come out of the skinhead closet at the Christmas Party in front of his entire family. Rips off his shirt revealing a giant swastika tattoo on his back. Rubs the black shoe polish off his Dr. Marten cherry red boots. Stands on a chair and says, “Yes, I’m a skinhead. Thank goodness you all know now. The secrecy was giving me an ulcer. It's made me very sick. I’ve really had to cut back on my…activities.”

Ha, right. That’d be hilarious. Everyone’s like, “Oh, okay. We just thought you were gay.” And he goes nuts and yells some insults against gays and takes off.

Like Tim Hardaway.

Ha. Yeah. Ironically, it seems like it would be difficult to differentiate between a closet homosexual and a closet skinhead. They’d both be very clean. I mean, you can’t get much more clean-cut than a shaved head.

And thin. You never see a fat skinhead.

Because they’re always running. Running after people. Running away from police. They get great cardio.

Ha. Nice. And they’re both super secretive—although for polar opposite reasons.

Oh yeah. Good point.

I’m hungry.

Me, too.

Let’s eat.

What?

I said, LET’S EAT.

No I mean, what should we eat?

Oh. I don't know.