Loose Hair

Eeeuuuggghhhww.  Loose hair.  I'm not sure what to call it: a fear would imply that I find it threatening, which I don't.  A weakness would suggest some kind of addiction WHICH IS MOST DEFINITELY NOT TRUE.  So I guess what I'd say is that I have an extreme aversion to loose hair.

The instant a hair detaches from its root, it instantly grosses me out.  It becomes a tangly nearly-invisible mess that is too static to be affected by gravity and too minuscule to get a good grip for timely and effective removal.  It has been a problem for me since I can remember.  I've been thinking about this equation/formula thingy for many years and this is what I've realized: I find unattached hairs exponentially gross with every second that they are no longer attached to the body.

A chart, to visualize:

It's pretty extreme.  I have learned to under-react so as to not frighten innocent bystanders in locker rooms when I happen to get some nasty lil kid's hairwad wedged between my toes.

My set-up leads me to this story: as a college student, I am lazy.  I avoid cleaning and rarely do my part unless I have somebody to impress or I start to feel guilty.  I felt guilty today when I finished showering upon realizing that the hair stuck in the drain had been accumulating for weeks now and needed to be removed, BADLYYYY.

I immediately knew that this task was something I had to do.  Something to help me to cope or even overcome my aversion.  So I sucked it up, grabbed some Maverick One-Ply, and went to removin'!

My initial attempts seemed fruitless, as if the hairs were tied to the drain.  What I did not realize was that the hair in the drain wasn't simply laying on top.  No. As I squinted through the drain I began to see something horrible.  Something I can only call a monster. 

The hair on the surface was actually part of an advanced underground network of accumulated hair, ancient and evil and resting like Cthulhu for longer than time has cared to keep track.  A sopping, moldy, sludgy, possibly sentient and definitely nasty hairmonster exists in the world below my feet every single day. Watching me as I take a shower.

EEeEEEEEEEWWW.

I successfully fought the urge to throw up despite my constant gagging and in a childish attempt to make things right I ripped and tore at the hairmonster's surface tendrils, pulling up as much of the monster as I could and tossing it overdramatically into the trash.  I tried to push away images of being forced by gunpoint to eat it (that was the first thing I thought of, no joke) and did not stop until the drain had no hair on it visible to the squinty up-close human eye.  The monster withdrew, defeated for now, reduced from tennis ball size to a racquetball.  Ha! How ashamed that hairmonster must be! At least mimick the volume of a REAL sport's ball, fool!

Though the grotesque wad of hair in the shower drain still technically exists, I am proud to say I have conquered it for now.  Next time its tendrils wind thickly into the land of light I'll at least be prepared. Or, yknow, I can clean the hair out every day and never have to deal with the giant wad ever again.  

It'll be a grand testament to either my integrity or my laziness.