As you read this, I want you to know I’m OK, despite the terrible things that happened.
You may be aware we spent Father’s Day weekend at The Cabin. We did so not only to celebrate Don and my father-in-law Big Don, but also to observe Donny’s birthday.
I know. That’s a lot of Dons. Believe me when I say you don’t know the half of it.
We went to The Cabin for one other reason. Known only to me.
Don and I are going camping in a few weeks. It will be a weekend without showers. For two full days, I will not wash my hair.
Big deal, right? Most people skip a day or two when it comes to shampooing. What makes me so special? Why do I need to shampoo daily? Am I really that prissy?
Well, yes. Also my hair is like Apple earbuds in 2008 – often coveted, but constantly tangled and grimy when you get up close. People envy the cornsilk sprouting from my head. But fine, silky hair grows heavy with oil and dirt about five minutes after it’s washed.
That oil and dirt start running down your face thirty seconds later. You won’t know it, of course, until a day or two passes and your face starts looking like pepperoni pizza.
Daily shampoos are required to keep that oil at bay. And satisfy my Obsessiveness.
This camping excursion I have pledged myself to is a whole event with lots of people. I can’t go around with greasy hair and a sixteen-year-old-me acne problem. Tenth grade was bad enough. I don’t need to relive it, least of all while camping.
I committed to using this weekend at The Cabin to test my dry shampoo. As I discussed in my column, I can’t just buy any old product and use it, caution to the wind like I’m Han Solo or something.
Have you ever needed a week of steroids because your shampoo’s formula changed, causing angry red welts to spread over your entire body? Have you ever been on your honeymoon, your arms bright red and itchy because you thought that sparkly lotion would be cute? Have you ever used a Stridex pad and had your entire face swell so badly your eyelids sealed shut?
This is the drama of sensitive skin.
The Cabin gave me the perfect opportunity to test my dry shampoo. Who cares what I look like at The Cabin? I can be as swollen and pocked with rashes as I want. I am not trying to be all that cute at The Cabin.
Saturday morning, I stumbled out of bed at 4:45 because certain four-legged people have an old man’s prostate and an underappreciation for the bears and snakes roaming around The Cabin.
I was up, so I might as well bathe and test my dry shampoo. I turned on the water, pinned my hair up, and headed into the shower.
That was when I saw the bug. Or, more accurately, the first bug.
It was the new Cabin bug, a two-inch long black worm. I’m not kidding. It’s really scary. And it was lurking on the floor of the shower.
Normally, I’d have Don or Big Don handle the bug. But it was five o’clock in the morning and while there’s always a lot of bravado about how early the day starts at The Cabin, this early-to-rise business rarely happens when I’m there.
I am also my own man. I will kill a bug myself. If I have to.
So I killed him. With impunity.
It was when I was already in the shower that I saw the other bug.
A second black worm lay across the shower drain. I couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive – and couldn’t decide which was worse. I showered quickly, watching him the whole time.
When I dropped my razor, my herpetophobia and Obsessiveness warred. Do I skip shaving so as not to have my hand near the black worm? Or do I grab the razor quickly and get the job done?
Surprisingly, my Obsessiveness won. That is not where I would have put my money. But I think had that been an actual snake – not just a serpentine bug – my Obsessiveness would have lost the entire game. No shaving. Not even a shower.
I’m pretty sure the black worm was dead. The water comes out of The Cabin’s showerhead like millions of needles. For the most part it’s fine. But when that water hits your sensitive bits it’s a little less fine. I’m thinking the black worms are akin to my sensitive bits.
I can’t fix that showerhead, by the way. Repairs and installations fall to The Cabin handyman, aka Big Don. There is just no good way to tell your father-in-law The Cabin showerhead hurts your lady parts. Especially when your father-in-law’s vigor is well-known and impressive. I was raised by a United States Marine. I know a vigorous dad when I see one.
This is a guy who, at fourteen, would hike the mountain next to The Cabin for days. He’d come home when his supplies ran out. I’m a lot older than fourteen and I can barely hike the property around The Cabin, let alone an entire mountain with no Cabin.
I’m just going to sound like I’m whining if I tell Big Don about the showerhead. Because I am whining about the showerhead. Plus, it killed the black worm. It’s not all bad.
Anyway, I hopped out of the shower and headed for my dry shampoo.
I read the label, which I always do because of the notorious family story about my great-grandmother giving a flea bath to a stray cat. The flea bath she used changed formulas. She didn’t read the directions. That poor cat wound up with a chemical burn.
The dry shampoo directions instructed me to first take a deep breath and get centered. That’s a little trippy for me. But I’ve been listening to Andy at Headspace and I had just showered with a black worm.
I took a deep breath and got centered.
As centered as one can be at The Cabin anyway.
I dry shampooed, dressed, then headed out to start my tea.
Tea is an experience. It is as necessary to life as bug-free showers. That cat-burning great-grandmother emigrated from England with a teapot and rigorous standards for tea that went in it. She spawned children and grandchildren who war over the suitability of reusing teabags.
I mean, full-on battles.
Tea is important.
Nothing happened when I turned the stove’s knob. This is pretty common at The Cabin. Sometimes, you have to manually light the burner.
But that didn’t work either.
I had to heat the water in the microwave. That’s worse than reusing a teabag and almost as bad as showering with a black worm.
I can handle a bug in the shower. I can’t handle two black worms in the shower, dry shampoo, and microwaved tea.
Once he was up, I asked Don to remove the black worm on the shower drain and to light the stubborn stove.
“I’m looking forward to reading about this,” Don muttered as he headed off to take care of the black worm that, yes, was still in the shower drain, presumably dead.
Well, I can’t complain about dead stoves and deader bugs on Father’s Day weekend. All of that has to go somewhere.
Later, we headed to Big Don’s hunting club, which at least has the decency to make sure all of the bugs in the bathroom are dead.
Donny fished as Jordan took pictures. I read my book, then eventually headed down to the pond to fish as well. Andy from Headspace was back, whispering in my brain, telling me to just focus on the bobber.
Fishing is surprisingly relaxing. If it didn’t involve worms and take place outside, I’d really enjoy it. It’s just you and that bobber.
I even hooked a worm onto my fishing line myself. With only a little bit of screaming.
From me. Not the worm.
I had to dodge another worm later in the kitchen, when Don and I found ourselves alone. He offered to make good use of the card table.
“Never say those words to me again,” I shuddered. He knows the rules about Parcheesi at The Cabin. Those rules extend to the hunting club and anything else Cabin-adjacent.
I mean, I’ve been using dry shampoo and there are dead bugs everywhere.
And I have to give him some reason to go home.
