Shudder

Let’s make this short, so as not to traumatize anyone.

Last night I needed diapers. Well, I did not need the diapers. Some certain bladder-control-challenged short members of my family needed the diapers. What I needed was exercise, so I decided to combine my need with the need of the short incontinent people. (Is that the right word? Doesn’t look right somehow. As I stare at it now, it looks like a person without a continent. Like…a person caught in the air between Africa and Australia. OK. Moving on.) I got on my bike. My bike has been somewhat neglected, as we don’t have a garage. So I tried to WD40 the pedals and wheels and chain. And I took off.

I even grabbed my son’s Hot Wheels bike lock.

Awesome. The wind in my hair. Sleek. Zipping in and out of traffic.

Grabbed that bike lock. Grabbed a back pack for the diapers.

Did not grab my wallet.

Back home again, sleek and zipping, wind in hair. ANNNND, we’re off a second time. Less sleek. Less zippy. Still got the wind in the hair.

Whatever. I managed to cram two packs of diapers into that backpack and started back home.

I didn’t smell so good when I got here. But I needed to mop. So I did that whole thing, to get just a tiny bit more smelly and sweaty. And then I showered.

I was clean. And feeling groovy.

Until I felt a bug in my hair. On my scalp. Setting up shop. Having a carnival.

There are several things that are efficient solutions to having a bug in your hair. Meticulously and calmly removing it. Asking someone with more sanity and presence of mind for some help. What I do NOT recommend is thrashing like a woman possessed to the point that you will feel as if all of your ribs are broken when you awaken the following morning. Yes, all ribs broken. Somehow. Maybe that’s from the sleek zipping on the bicycle. I rather think it’s from the bug thrashing.

I immediately thrashed until I thought I was going to knock the pictures off the wall, all while yelling and frothing at the mouth. Then, I immediately (Can you immediately do something twice in a row. Do you feel the urgency here?) turned the shower back on, full blast, as hot as I could stand it, and immersed my buggy head. I washed every strand of every crazy clump of hair on my head. Perhaps that also could account for this morning’s broken ribs. As I was washing manically, I was thinking, “How’d he get in there? What was he thinking as he set up shop? Was he trying to escape or is he now heartbroken to have been discovered? What happens if I don’t get him out? How will I live, sharing my very large head with a bug?” Blah. Blah. Blah. And then, 45 minutes later (not really), I raised my head up from the shower head and I saw him. A very traumatized, very dead bug.

Shudder.

I thought I was going to have to shave my head. If I’d done that, this would be altogether a different kind of post. Still thinking about doing it, but I’d like to combine that move with the purchase of a convertible.

Must go. Everything takes longer when your ribs are broken, and I have to get two boys off to school.