I wasn’t out for long, just a couple of hours. And let me tell you, a couple of hours should be easy — easy! Nonetheless, when I came through the door, my younger daughter welcomed me with a grin that lit her whole face up, and hair that was, very oddly, standing completely on end. It had a kind of greasiness to it and, even as she turned and toddled away, it never shifted from its bizarre, finger-in-the-electrical-socket configuration.
But before I investigated, there was business to attend to, and I dashed up the stairs to the loo. Washing my hands, I noticed that the sink was also greasy — the whole sink, from the plughole right up to the edge of the counter-top. And the towel… coated in the same strange sliminess. I ran my finger through it, and then sniffed: Vaseline. I see.
I grabbed the sponge and the cleaning fluid — “grease cutting” never had to work so hard to earn its claim — and did what I could, and then replaced the towel the with a fresh one.
Going back downstairs, I found M. “So, um… what’s with all the Vaseline in the bathroom?” He looked at me, surprised — he hadn’t known about the bathroom. “And, E2’s hair?” Sheepish now — that he knew about.
“Well…” he began, “it was during a momentary lapse in my concentration…”