A Restless Night of Scratching


With spring and allergy season upon us, who isn’t familiar with waking in the morning after a restless night of itching and scratching and feeling nothing short of exhausted.


The prospects of the day are dashed, and the slightest movement is heavy with ache and fatigue. It is most important on these occasions that you know precisely the steps not to take. Here is a guide.


When your wife suggests that you partake of a soothing oatmeal bath to relax and relieve your itchiness, do not listen to her. Your wife may mean well, and an oatmeal bath may seem like a wonderful idea. But let me tell you that it is not.


Also, just because the children are off at school and you do not have to worry about them barging in on you, do not think that you can relax with the bathroom door open, exposing your body to the natural breezes blowing through your home. Nobody wants to see this. Don’t do it.


Never fall asleep in your oatmeal bath either, as a friend of mine did, because you will wake to find that the oatmeal has congealed. This, my reliable source tells me, is not at all a pleasant thing, as you will then be lying in what can best be described as breakfast cereal.


If you think this is a bad affair, prepare yourself. Your predicament will only fully take shape when you go to drain the bath, whereupon you will discover that the porridge won’t go down the plughole. Here you must be sure not to make another mistake and get out of the tub to scrape the porridge from your body into the toilet. You may think you are being clever. You are wrong.


The reason you are wrong is that it is about this time that Mrs. Peanuckle from next door decides to pop by for a visit. Your wife, without telling you, has gone off somewhere, leaving you alone in the house.


Finding the front door open, Mrs. Peanuckle lets herself in, and seeing no one about downstairs, comes upstairs. You may now begin to realize why I said earlier that it is never a good idea to leave the bathroom door open.


Mrs. Peanuckle will then scream. She does this because she’s just found you naked in the center of the bathroom flinging oatmeal at the toilet, which is not a thing anyone should have to see.  Mrs. Peanuckle now looks rather like a horror movie victim who has gone camping at Camp Death, or some other place of equally dubious name.


You on the other hand, are thinking that a spot of milk might loosen your suit of porridge and make it more manageable.


Ah, Mrs. Peanuckle, you say, “Would you be so kind as to fetch me some milk.”

“Milk?” she gasps.

“Yes, and perhaps a spoon to go with it,” you answer, delighted at having found a solution.