Ehhhh.
ok.
You know something that's pretty disgusting? When I was a kid at summer camp, I always hated the communal showers, because girls would like, stick their wet hair up on the shower walls and it would be all stringy all over the place and when I got in it would totally gross me out. It's like, Just wash it down the drain people.
I mean, do you know what I am talking about? Is this a common experience? You know the grody hair-wall, right?
That being said...
Like a month ago, I noticed some hair stuck to MY shower wall. Of course, I'm the only one to use my shower, so it was my own hair and it didn't really gross me out. What it DID do, however, was amaze me... Mystify and amaze me. I don't know how it happened, but there he was... ALFRED HITCHCOCK! THE EXACT IMAGE! That little profile of his that he would walk into from his old TV show... Stuck to my wall... By my own human hair. It was sort of like when people find the Virgin Mary burned onto a piece of toast or something. But way better. Because this one was for real. A real sign. You know how I know? This is nuts! You're not gonna believe this! But I had just found this old book at a used book store like a day or two before... Alfred Hitchcock Presents 12 Stories to Read Late at Night!!
BAM!
Whoah!
I was like halfway through with it already.
It totally flipped me out.
So freakin awesome! No way I could wash him down the drain. All I could do was a little rearranging of the hair on the wall to make it more perfect. See, it was just his face up there when I first noticed it, I had to pull one off my head and stick it on to make his fat belly. Every morning I got in the shower and said hello to my favorite little guy. Every day at work, I would inevitably walk around doing the tubas from his theme song with my mouth voice. You know the song. It's a great little tune, really... gets stuck in your head. (Which, by the way, the word for those kind of tunes is Ohrwurm, in German, which translates to Earworm in English.)
I really loved having my showers with old Alfie. We'd have nice little conversations where he would explain to me how I shouldn't be scared in the shower anymore, because he only used chocolate syrup to simulate blood in that shower scene in Psycho, and I would explain to him how much royalties he would probably getting if he were alive today because of the Bart of Darkness episode of The Simpsons that was a Rear Window knock-off. He had never heard of The Simpsons, so I let him know all about the show and I am pretty sure he approved.
But alas. Then came a sad, sad day. Some relatives were coming to visit and that meant I was going to have to share my bathroom. The shower would have to be cleaned. Alfie was going to have to go. We took our last shower together and I aimed the sprayer right at him and said good-bye, humming the psycho "DUN dunnnnn DUN dunnnn DUN dunnnnnnnnnn" (you know, not the screeching knife part, but the sad end part, when she's already dead) as he swirled into the drain.
Not a shower goes by when I don't miss my ol pal. Like, last night, as I was standing there with this new shine enhancing conditioner soaking into my hair, praying to Thor himself that it didn't drip into the new shine-free, shine reducing face wash i was letting work it's magic on my greasy greasy face, lest my head spontaneously combust into a fiery burst of combative chemicals.
I mean, I just think he would really like to be there for that one, is all.
