I regret to inform you that I have had another dreadful encounter with the all too often previously mentioned Mr. Snow. Prepare yourselves, this one is worse than the last.

So I'm stamping cards at the Circulation Desk at the library. I think I may have looked up and made the mistake of making eye contact with him. Well, I guess he thought it was an invitation. He comes over to me and says, "I'm resisting the urge to call you Blondie. I love your hair." No Response. No further eye contact. Stamping becomes louder. "May I run my fingers through your hair?" No eye contact, stamping continues. "No you may not." "I'm glad you said that, I shows that you have both feet on the ground." Flush of anger.

Ok let's discuss a bit. Since most of the people who read my diary already know who Mr. Snow is, I won't describe him in full detail. But for sake of clarity, who the hell does he think he is! I am a 23 year old female, and he is a 80 year old stinky BO rudeass with delusions of grandeur. It makes me even sicker that I know he thinks I'm younger than 23! I love how he feels like he can offset his nasty comment by acting like it was a test of my morality or character. What would he have done had I said yes? Fallen over dead! That might have been worth it.

Soon to be bald,