Bathrooms: Sting of Death

Apart from death by falling showerheads, bathrooms are made ever more dangerous by the invading critters.

Bees are one of these.

Now I do not fear bees. But I am creeped out by anything that can move faster than I can squish it.

And because I’m sure the universe is out to get me (specifically my toe, but me in general too) I’m convinced I would be highly allergic to bee stings.

All the windows and doors at home have thing wire meshing to keep out the bloodsucking mosquitoes and the bees, who have decided to build three separate hives in each balcony overhang.

I believe they intend to take over the house soon, invade our bodies and live our lives. If I start craving nectar, be warned.

At night the bees are attracted to light and try and invade the house. They do not succeed often.

But, unbeknownst to me, one managed to get into my bathroom through a space in the window frame, and like all devious creatures proceeded to hide itself and silently wait in the folds of the shower-curtain.

Not long after I found myself, naked, half wet, diving and ducking trying to avoid the recently emerged bee.

Being naked I could not escape.

The bathroom being locked, the bee could not escape either.

It seems bees who find a way in, never remember how to get out. Idiots!

Then followed a complicated dance between the bee and I, as I frantically tried to dry myself off, put on pants, and avoid being stung in sensitive places, which I swear the bee was aiming for.

I’m surprised I didn’t accidentally kill myself against another bathroom fitting.

The towel rack perhaps.

Recently it has been looking at me quite deviously.

But I soon solved the problem of the bee by switching off the bathroom lights, opening the door and waiting until it followed the light into the bedroom.

From there it could do as it pleased.

I would deviously leave my family to deal with it, while I…… would bathe.

The bee however decided that it would climb into the light fixture and partaaay.

It soon died from the heat.

I continued my bath in peace, not in the least marred by guilt.

Bathrooms: Assassins

All of you living happily in your homes, feeling safe and protected from the world beyond your doors.

I must tell you scary, horrific, terrifying things.

Please do listen, you might enjoy yourself.

There is a dark side to the society we live in.

There are dangerous things that could hurt you, kill you or emotionally scar you for life.

And they are closer to you than you think.

…Within your own homes.

…In your bathrooms.

Bathrooms are dangerous places. Many of my most traumatic encounters have occurred in bathrooms, including my (tooth)brush with death.

Therefore I have come to the conclusion that I will eventually die in my bathroom. Not, as many have, by a heart attack, aneurism, or extreme constipation, but by things far more sinister.

Like falling showerheads.

Yes. Falling showerheads.

There I was one morning, showering, and in my usual fashion, ruminating on the meaning of life and what I could eat for breakfast. It did not dawn upon me then, that the meaning of life might in fact be substantial breakfasts.

Suddenly there was a pop above me, followed closely by a thud and a crack at my feet.

The showerhead had popped off.

A tile had cracked.

Next to my toe.

My cursed toe that the Universe is out to get, but that is another story.

It could have been my head.

They could have found me dead, naked and contorted on the floor, blood having gushed from the showerhead shaped wound in my scalp. That would not be pretty.

Luckily at that moment I had stretched out to get my alleged “hair revitalizing” shampoo and thus failed to be decapitated by the falling bathroom fitting. My balding head saved my life. Who’d have thought?

This makes me believe that my hair is sentient and can see the future, leading it to begin falling out many years ago, just so it could save me in my moment of peril. Now that it has done that, I expect a full head of hair to grow back in a few weeks.

But it didn’t stop there.

I had now taken to showering under a headless shower. The kind Sleepy Hollow is full of.

Yet several days later, while stretching out for my con-artist shampoo, (hair still refusing to grow back), the showerhead fell at my feet again.

I, needless to say, was flabbergasted.

My showerhead was out to get me.

Not only did it attempt to decapitate me, it attempted it TWICE.

And I had left it on the shelf in the corner!

Somehow it had crept its way back into the shower-fitting, to wait for the opportune moment when it could decapitate me.

I have no idea what I could have done to make it so vengeful. So I now believe it is a hired assassin.

True, my cousin who had showered in my bathroom earlier could have placed it there, being unaware of its murderous intentions. But I like to think I’m important enough for my showerhead to want to finish the job itself.

And it could.

Anytime now.