The Shower Squirrel (or Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow)

This morning while I was washing my hair, I noticed a small furry creature peering at me from the shower drain. I tried to ignore its presence as I squeegee’d the extra water from my scalp, being careful to not let it run into my ear, because for some reason, in the last year my ears have become super sensitive to external influences like water, fingers, q-tips, air.

When I finished towel-drying my hair I took a deep breath and bent down to investigate the critter inhabiting our shower. It didn't seem frightened by my advances. On the contrary, the fuzzy beast stood its ground, smirking at me at me in smug satisfaction. Incensed by this unwanted visitor's lack of respectable fear, I grabbed the little fucker by the neck and flung it out of the shower where it came to rest on a piece of chipped tile. There it sat, brown and stringy and wet and dead. I gingerly picked up the massive hair rat between by thumb and forefinger and disposed of it once and for all.

As the toilet gurgled its disapproval of having to gulp down this offending gnarl of hair I ran my hand across my still-wet head. I pondered the future of my once-lustrous locks, which could now be found more and more often gathered together around the drain like escaped follicles liberated from my scalp--hirsute casualties of my ongoing battle with the big 'M'.

I sat down on the side of the tub and stared at my hair brush. One word, just one word, and through the mirror you go, I warned. The brush wisely declined to comment.