I couldn't believe it when my mentor told me he was going to cut the grass. The mullethead actually let 'im? Oh well. I had grabbed an Oscar Wilde poetry collection, heated a kettle of tay, lit the fire, and landed on the couch for some nice reading. I was on my first cup of tay when the mullethead sat beside me, and grabbed a few thin strands of my hair for braidin'.
She was very gentle, it felt nice, so I put the book down. When she was finished with me, I had four thin braids in various parts of my hair, and we snuggled on the couch finishin' the now tepid tea, sharin' one cup.
We were still on the couch when my mentor comes in, finished with the lawn. He must have run doin' it, considerin' how fast he came back. When he saw me, he said, "Oooooh! Nice! Wait a minute," and he took off upstairs like a bat out o' Hell. He came down, handin' me my torc.
Lunch was postponed today. And if I'm gonna get so delicately, lengthily ravished for havin' a few traditional Celtic braids in my hair, maybe I oughta start braidin' my own damn hair.
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