Waiter, There’s a Hair on My Soap

The word “lunacy” is defined by the Miriam-Webster online dictionary as “intermittent insanity once believed to be related to phases of the moon.”

The moon thing may, or may not be, related to the magnetic pull of lunar spherical forces on legions of Apple evangelists, but there’s no way to know that for sure without exhuming the late Steve Jobs. But I don’t believe mere coincidence accounts for the fact that certain types of people — wink, wink — are willing to spend what amounts to the entire economic output of a smallish Central American country on a phone that is made obsolete, by Apple, two weeks prior to its release.  Lunar spherical forces have to be in play here.

But enough about Apple; the point of this piece of literary genius is to talk about everyday things that cause many of us, by which I mean me and my lovely wife of lo these many years, temporary bouts of lunacy reminiscent of Johnny Depp’s very convincing portrayal of the Mad Hatter.  We’ll begin with hair.

Yes, hair.

Hair is something most of us have in good supply, at least when we’re young. It’s even something men continue to have an ample supply of when they’re old, even if it has left their heads to enjoy retirement resting in the ears, coming out of the nose, and soaking up the sun at the knuckles. The point is, we are not usually driven to the point of insanity by hair.

Until we find it stuck to the bar of soap in the shower.

Then, suddenly, a single strand of hair is cause to call out the National Guard, the bomb squad and, if possible, Alice from the Brady Bunch. Consider the following mind conversation you might have with yourself (note: the following dialogue is entirely fictional; any resemblance to persons, living or at room temperature, or actual events having taken place in anyone’s mind, including your own, is coincidental):

• Stable You: What a splendid day to be alive! I just love the smell of Irish Spring; it reminds me of beautiful waterfalls, valleys of lush green, and the box of Lucky Charms waiting in the kitchen. (you put the soap to your nose to smell)
• Lunatic You: What’s this? Gaaaah! It’s a hair, a HAIR!!
• Stable You: Relax. It probably came from one of your own hair repositories during yesterday’s  self-cleansing ritual.
• Lunatic You: No. It can’t be. I wasn’t the last one to use the shower. What if it belongs to…to…my wife [husband, domestic partner, pet hamster, or the cleaning lady we’ll refer to as “Midge” in order to protect her dignity]?
• Stable You: So what if the hair gets on you. It will rinse off and go harmlessly down the drain.
• Lunatic You: Harmlessly? After it’s actually touched me? I’m going to need healing from leprosy AND an exorcism if that hair makes contact in any way, shape or form.

In an instant, that lovely bar of Irish Spring becomes a lump of toxic waste requiring professional intervention. Whatever you do, keep your eyes looking straight ahead. Otherwise you’re likely to have a complete meltdown when your see the soap hair’s twin brother on the shower wall — just inches from your your gloriously naked butt!

But it gets worse, dear friends. much worse.

What could be worse than hair soap? How about that bumble bee that crawled into the corner of the window frame and died…during the Reagan Administration. It’s completely harmless in it’s skeletal form, complete with an entire housefly entourage, but it absolutely cannot be touched. Even through a napkin. Call out the vacuum brigade!

Then there’s the sludge buffet that collects in the laundry sink, anything having do with plumbing and, of course, the shower curtain after 6 months of use. These things drive us to lose our collective minds because they are just so…so…gro-o-o-o-o-o-s-s. Whew! I needed to get that off my chest.

Household lunacy which, I might add, would make a great name for a rock band, is an affliction that strikes us all at some point during our lives. It is not easily cured but, if left untreated, can lead to —

Plastic furniture covers.

That’s right, dear friends; plastic furniture covers like many of our grandmothers used to protect that expensive, but tastefully gaudy, “faux” vinyl furniture of the ’70s. You know what I mean. The bright orange “tilted donut” chair, the lime green love seat, and the pretentious, red recliner grandpa used to call “sweet mother Mary” every time he sat down. We couldn’t have the grandkids ruining that nice faux vinyl, now could we?

More advanced cases of household lunacy manifest themselves in a variety of symptoms like:

• holding on to that potty chair for decades just because “little Skyler took his first tinkle on it”
• handling a wet dish cloth as though it were a live, nuclear device that would explode at the slightest bit of pressure applied to squeeze the water out
• refusing to take out the garbage until the point that merely walking into the kitchen causes watery eyes, runny nose, and an unidentified skin rash

Yes, we all have our bouts of household lunacy. For most of us it is temporary. But for others an iPhone is the inevitable end. May their souls rest in peace.