Why My Hair Is Greasy Today

Not much in the way of NationStates news right now, so I'll relate the tale of why today my hair is greasy (as you may have surmised from the title).

First things first, I have to explain to you all that I HATE WASPS. I really can't stand them. I hate the way they buzz around you for what seems like an ice age while you stand statue-still, not daring to breathe, lest the little bugger take this as an insult and sting you I've never been stung by a wasp, so who knows? I may be fatally allergic to the things, and I don't want to find out. I get recurring nightmares about wasps trying to crawl into my ears, and I have vivid dreams. Very vivid. It was only recently that I discovered people often don't hear or smell or taste anything in their dreams. Apparently some don't even dream in colour. But that's besides the point, because I HATE WASPS. I remember some lady once remarking how a body-building friend of hers who boxed and wasn't scared of anything ran away screaming like a little girl when wasps came near. Well guess what, lady, but you can't engage wasps in fisticuffs! Because they bloody well STING you! There's no winning against such creatures of unending malice.

Anyway, my story:

I was having a bath last night, ready for a nice relaxing soak, and perhaps another chapter of my novel. I was washing my hair (I have lots of hair. It's quite afro-esque.) when I noticed something crawling on the ceiling. It looked quite big but I was not unduly alarmed. I thought it was an earwig of some sort. But then I heard THAT BUZZING and saw another flying around. There were two wasps in the bathroom. My chances of having a quiet slumber in the tub were destroyed. I couldn't keep my eyes off them. Whenever one of them flew, I'd instinctively retreat further into the water. Possibly I was hoping they would not notice my vulnerable naked body and connive to sting me.

I then noticed another wasp on the curtain above me. Watching. Biding its time. THREE wasps. This was not good. I was getting understandably nervous by now. I'm not one of those who will cheerfully swat at wasps with a rolled up newspaper. I am not one of those who will with wanton good cheer and ludic gaiety tease a tiger or see how close I can stand to a rabid rottweiler on a chain. The only time in recent memory I have of killing a wasp was when I accidentally trod on one while bare-footed. Strangely enough, I didn't get stung, but that's not the point. Once again I have let me distract myself. Where was I? Ah yes.

I was, at this moment, contemplating my escape from this room of wasps when the most appallingly terrible thing happened - the wasp on the curtain fell into the bath with a little plop.

The world. Stopped.

I could not have rocketed out of that tub faster had the wasp been some kind of pirhana that survives by eating penises. I let out an almighty gurgling scream, the shampoo in my hair, quite forgotten, and splashed just about a half of the water onto the floor. When I was up, I noticed even MORE wasps were in the room. I shot out of the room, bollock-naked, tripped, and slammed face-first onto the landing.

And that's where my mum found me.

After that, memories are vague, but there was absolutely no chance I was going back into that iniquitious den of waspy terror so I think I slept the rest of the night as my hair slowly congealed into its present oily morass. My story complete, I shall now adjourn to finish my bath and clean my hair.

After a VERY thorough inspection.