There I was on Saturday morning. K had stayed the night with her friend J, not that that's relevant really. I woke and strolled into my bathroom to do ablutions and things. I did the usual combination; brushed teeth, showered, dried myself etc.
Then I did what any true metrosexual should do; I sprayed on the appropriate amount of deodorant, appropriate meaning enough for anyone in the vicinity to go running away holding their nose as if I'd
I massaged it into my face, working under my chin and doing the bits around the eyes, feeling sprightly and looking forward to the day to come. And, as I've been wearing a shaven head recently, I rubbed some into the scalp and proceeded to massage that in.
All was going well until I came to a stubborn bit of moisturiser that refused to get absorbed into my scalp. Sometimes these crop up, hard bits that might actually have been on the edge of the lid of the bottle and so lost their elasticity.
I rubbed some more and the thing steadfastly refused to disintegrate. Strange I thought, but persisted and gave the fellow one more chance to submit. It didn't, so I picked it out and had a look.
It was a bogey, no doubt. One of those wettish squishy ones that only ever seem to exist in swimming baths or showers.
Even after that I still couldn't manage to get it absorbed into my skin, so I chucked it away.
Like I said, shhhhh, Mum's the word!