When Jess first got dreads about four years ago it caught us by surprise how it changed our lives. Maybe it surprised us because her reasoning for getting dreadlocks wasn’t to make some point, wasn’t to stand out, it wasn’t for any big reason except that it sounded fun and we thought they looked beautiful (and I selfishly loved the idea of having a wife never pay for a haircut or hair product again!). Besides the fact that people used to ask her for weed all the time (strangely they’ve stopped…why is that?) we started to notice that people remembered us. We’d go into a restaurant for the second time and they’d remember our order from the first. Hostesses would say things like “hey, its really good to see y’all again”. We found ourselves racking our brains trying to figure out if we knew her from somewhere…and then it hit us! Oh, Jess is that white girl with dreads! We’re the dreaded couple! Talk about accountability! You leave a bad tip…dreaded couple. You say something rude…dreaded couple. It really was a great thing ’cause we made friends with many restaurant and store employees simple because they remembered Jess’ freakish hair. We’ve come to love it really.

But now its even worse (better?)! Whereas Jess has gotten used to people turning heads and whispering about her (its a really strange thing to observe) now I find myself experiencing the same thing because of my forearm crutch and awkward walking. I wouldn’t think that I’m much of a spectacle but apparently I am. People like watching me. Maybe its pity, maybe its the sound of my foot slapping the ground, or maybe its that there’s this slight hope that they might see me fall. I like to think its because I’ve been shaving my face more often and they’re impressed with my handsome look.

People like to hold the door for me now, even automatic doors get spread wide open for lil’ ol’ me. People clear lanes at grocery stores like Moses parting the Red Sea so that lil’ ol’ me can pass through unscathed. People turn heads, slow down, and pause what they’re doing to watch me. Its awkward. Sometimes I’m grateful for the door and the open lanes whereas other times I just want to scream “My arms still work! I can open doors!” Regardless, while I’m not quite as memorable as the dreaded hippie, I’ve become quite the sight I guess and it’s been a strange adjustment.

But here’s what it comes down to. Math. Go ahead, lets do a little math…

Dreaded white mama + Awkward limping cripple = The Dreaded Cripple Couple

Dreaded Cripple C0uple > What’s on my tray at Burgerville

Coming to a store near you. Watch out for us! We tend to order tacos and taquitos at Baja Fresh, the Fred Meyer’s produce selection tends to draw our favor, and yes we do enjoy self check out when available! Beware of our penchant for drinking too much coffee at Mon Ami and eating too many french macaroons from Je T’aime bakery on Main. If you ask us for weed we won’t have any…because the reality is that under the striking and shocking hair/bum leg combo we’re just a couple of recovering homeschoolers who grew up in an old school traditional church context with the most average names possible in suburban Vantucky who like to watch 30 Rock on Hulu ’cause we don’t have a TV who likes to read books and hang out with friends over board games and good food…and who apparently DON NOT use commas in their run-on sentences!

Even still we do sometimes bite. So beware of the Dreaded Cripple Couple. Ha!*