Friday, March 04, 2011

Letting Creepy Rot From The Root Up


by James Jarvis
from Life With Creepy

    Creepy comes in the door all atwitter today.

    "Gotta wash all my underwear in hot water," he declares as a greeting.

    "Oh?" I answer, amused because I know the reason why . . . amused because once again, for the 900th time, Creepy has discovered that I was right and he was wrong . . . and THIS time, his ignorant arrogance caused HIM the discomfort, not me. About time.

    A couple of months ago, Creepy got the crotch rot. First he blamed the shower curtains, ranting and raving about the irresponsibility of those damned maids and how he was going to call the health department and yada yada yada until I thought the manager was going to throw us out. But Creepy kept at the manager, so he replaced the shower curtains for us.

     Then Creepy blamed the proximity of my pumice soap to his assortments of lavender and glycerin and aloe vera and God-knows-what-else collection of soaps and skin care products, so I moved my soap to a place of safety.

     Then he blamed the motel towels and promptly went down to the 99 Cent Store and bought some "quality linen".

    Of course he went to the school doctor, who prescribed various creams and lotions. But being who he is, my roommate went a step further. He declared that the fungus must be eradicated from all his underwear by a good washing or two or three in cold water.

    "Cold water?" I asked, "I thought it was supposed to be hot water. Really hot water."

    Creepy laughed. He laughed the laugh of someone dealing with a humorously backward soul.

    "Oh no, James," he giggled, "don't you know anything? Fungus GROWS in hot water for God's sake. They like the heat. The only way you can get rid of them is to wash in COLD water. Really cold. Didn't you know that? (hee hee) I'm surprised you didn't know that. Didn't you ever do laundry? I do laundry all the time."

    So I held my tongue these last few months while Creepy's fungus got worse and worse. I'm such a bastard? Not really. No amount of persuasion or logic can deter Creepy from his . . .uh . . .proclamations of all knowingness . . . until a "professional" says otherwise. Sometimes not even then. And he's got this other thing, too. He refuses to remember that I ever suggested hot water. Never happened. What are you talkin' about, James? You got a bad memory.

    So I let him rot . . . from the root up. Sue me.
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