I just had the strangest memory.
One of my exes, known as The Ex, was all about reinventing himself. I never quite knew what he was running from, although the possibilities were endless. He’d move to a new state, change his style, change his hair, change his drug of choice – you name it.
Example: the hair. He wanted to dye his normally dark brown hair jet black. I told him that was so 1991 and that if he were really hell-bent on a new shade, to maybe consider going a little lighter instead of darker.
The Ex took this advice to extremes and purchased a box of bleach blond hair dye. Not surprisingly, he didn’t read the directions, left it on for like an hour and a half, and burned some of the skin right off his scalp. Plus, he turned his hair bright orange in the process. After an emergency call to Clairol’s color consultants, he rinsed out the dye and went about tending to the burns (which were literally raw and bleeding) on his head.
A few days later, his housemate took him to the salon to get it fixed. He ended up with a shock of bleach blonde hair, which was preferable to the carrot orange, but still. Imagine a very tall, thin guy with pale skin, black eyes, and Marilyn Monroe’s hair. He looked like Lurch.
It grew out and continued to look weird. I talked him out of dying it again while we were together, but who knows what he’s done to it since then.
But that’s all tangential. The actual memory that hit me today was this:
The Ex decided that he wanted to change his name. He was dead serious. The dead serious name he chose?
Kronk Aloycius McKracken.
I dated a cokehead who wanted to rename himself Kronk McKracken, people.