My friends, it is high time we talk about hair. I’m talking the hair on the tippy top of your head: that silky, lovely, wonderful substance that we so meticulously care for. The stuff that, on a good day, makes you walk around doing something a little like this:
Now, several months ago I purchased a brand new, spiffy, top-of-the-line rug from…where? You guessed it. Where broke people of all ages and nationalities buy their apartment items: Ikea.
My new rug, while cheap, is a wonderful and glorious addition to my room. However, after a few months, it had retained many dark spots of (what I assumed to be) dirt and dust, and I decided to get off my laurels and vacuum the damn thing. If only I had been mentally prepared for the horrors I was about to unearth.
My friends, as I began to vacuum, I noticed the spots of dirt were refusing to be sucked up into the vast caverns of the vacuum. After several puzzling minutes, I was forced to get down on my hands and knees and attempt to solve the mystery of the obstinate dirt.
What I found, to my appall, was that the dark clumps were not, in fact, merely dirt. They were ACTUALLY sneaky, stringy strands of hair, covered in dirt and dust, and mired into the fibers of my rug. Thus causing a reaction very similar to this:
It was as though these lovely, wavy golden strands of hair had executed a suicide leap from my scalp and made it their ultimate final mission to cling to my rug (and anything else they could find) with all the strength they could muster. They had failed their previous master in the task of hanging on to my poor little head and were therefore determined to be dutiful and most dedicated disciples to my rug.
It was truly shocking. These knotted, nasty clumps bore no recognizable resemblance to my healthy locks. It was the transformation of a lifetime, somewhat akin to Mulan. In case you are unfamiliar, in said film, the title character cuts off her hair, disguises herself as a male solider, and saves China. Comparably, my hair had forcibly removed itself from my head, disguised itself as innocent flecks of dust, and saved my rug from coming in contact with, you know, actual feet by becoming a protective LAYER over the exposed weave.
I truly didn’t know it was even possible to lose such a revolting amount of hair in such a ridiculously short time. You would think I had gone completely bald by the amount of hair that was (ultimately) in that vacuum. Or perhaps you would think I was attempting to fashion some sort of disgusting, caveman-esque costume wig that would cover my ENTIRE HEAD. Gross, friends. Gross.
The moral of the story is two-fold: one, vacuum often. Two, be kind to your hair. Otherwise it will abandon you, betray you, and pledge its allegiance to your Ikea rug.