Irrelevant Cheetah

It began like any other morning. Humming brightly as I faced the new day, ripe with possibilities, I started my morning ablutions. I hopped in the shower, grabbed the shampoo and tried to avoid looking too foolish as I started scrubbing away.

You know what I mean. There’s no way to look cool or graceful or sexy when you’re standing in the shower, eyes closed, with a huge glop of shampoo running down your head. Brad Pitt couldn’t do, it, Heidi Klum couldn’t do it, and we all know where I stand in terms of social acceptance. I once memorized Jabberwocky to impress girls, for chrissakes. (No, it didn’t work.)

But I digress. So there I was, eyes squeezed shut, standing in the most defenseless position imaginable, when something landed on my lip.

Now, I had no idea what it was. My eyes were squeezed shut. It could have been a stray hair. It could have been a spider. It could have been a dollop of shampoo. It could have been the tentacle of an octopus demon from Dimension X, performing some twisted form of foreplay just before it anally raped me. Whatever it was, it had landed on my lip and showed no signs of vacating the area. It just sat there, quietly taunting me.

Not knowing the identity of this upper lip intruder, and unable to open my eyes, I probably should have wiped it off, or at the very least run my face under the stream of water to wash whatever it was away. But no, this is where my innate intelligence failed me. I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue to taste it.

This is where I imagine you, Dear Reader, leaning forward on the edge of your seat. “What was it?” you are asking, nearly screaming at the computer monitor. “What did you feel? Did you feel tiny spider feet, tiptoeing through the taste buds? Did a hair wrap itself around your tongue? What was it?”

It was none of these, thankfully. It was, however, a healthy dollop of shampoo. And not shampoo that had been diluted by shower water, either. No, it was a glop of straight-from-the-bottle Suave (hey, if I can’t tell the difference, neither can you, right?) that immediately coated my tongue like Vaseline on a proctologist’s finger. Needless to say, I gasped, spit, and scrubbed my tongue, but to no avail. That crap wasn’t coming off without a pressure washer.

And here it is, several hours later, and I still taste shampoo. I almost wish it had been the octopus demon.

As far as I know, humor-blogs.com showers daily.