Sugarbomb the bookstore hamster, self-cannibalizing children, and…Kenny Rogers?

Today at work, I was bitten by a hamster.

Mind you, I work in a bookstore.

Yep. I was bitten by a hamster in a bookstore.

I was walking past the magazine section, when I noticed a tiny sproglet scooting a cardboard box across the floor. And then I noticed that there was a small animal house inside the cardboard box.

So naturally, at that point I knelt down next to her, and I asked her what she had in there.

She then lifted up the animal house, and introduced me to Sugarbomb(?) the hamster. (Sugarbomb? Sugarbob? Sugarball? SOMETHING TO THAT EFFECT, ANYWAY.)

I asked her if she had just gotten Sugarbomb. She said no. I asked her if Sugarbomb just liked going out for walks, then. The sproglet shrugged, and seemed arguably even more confused than I was as to why she was scooting a hamster along a bookstore’s floor.

And then Sugarbomb poked its little head out of its little house to stare at me, and I offered it my finger to sniff.

And then Sugarbomb saw my glittery nail polish and was, apparently, overcome.

Because Sugarbomb latched its teeth right onto my fingernail and did not want to let go.

So, in short: Today a bookstore hamster tried to eat my sparkly nail polish.

The end.
Or, alternately, if you want the short version —

Friend: WHY was there a hamster at your shop
Jacey: Because it’s my shop.
welcome to the vortex
(Thank you, Bernard Black. ♥)
But, naturally, the fun did not end with Sugarbomb.

After work, I got on the train to go home…and promptly realised I was sitting across from an even smaller child, this one screaming because he could not eat his own hands.

I still don’t know.

I’m still not sure that I want to know.
And then?

Then, I got off the train.

And walked past a man standing proudly on the sidewalk, next to a life-size cardboard cutout of Kenny Rogers.

I couldn’t help it: I stared, and couldn’t stop my grin.

The man noticed, and beamed right back at me.

“That is beautiful. Where did you even acquire that?”
“The restaurant!” (Why exactly this restaurant had had a cardboard cutout of Kenny Rogers, I just decided not to ask.)

And as the man attempted to fit Kenny Rogers into his car, his wife walked up, laughing.

“Only my husband would manage to get a cardboard cutout of the most interesting man in the world!”

And I started laughing even more myself, and simply left them with, “Your husband might just be the most interesting man in the world, at this rate!”

She didn’t argue.

(But I still maintain that my own life wins any and all proverbial Interesting Awards. And if I am wrong, and there is in fact someone out there who can beat me, I want to meet them straightaway and quite possibly propose.)


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