It was 6:00 AM on a typical Friday morning. While most of the people in this part of the world are still asleep, I was already up because unlike first graders, it seems that people my age can no longer stay in bed for the recommended eight hours. Anyway, I was in the kitchen washing my coffee mug and the teaspoon when I accidentally dropped it. When I bent down to pick it up, I noticed a little black thing lying still in the floor. Sensing that it may not be the only one, I looked around and to my surprise and disbelief there were several others lying in the cold kitchen floor. The first question that came into my mind was “How did they get here?”

I am sharing a 3-bedroom apartment with four other people – three single ladies in one room and an older landlady in the other whom we only get to see during paydays. Since the landlady and I rarely use the kitchen (I always dine out, she’s a little fat and supposed to be on strict diet), I immediately concluded that the culprit has to be one of the ladies in the other room. But conclusion never gave me the satisfaction like the one I get from someone’s first-hand confession. So I laid out a simple plan to find out the truth. That was my Plan A.

 Due to different working schedules, Friday night is the only night of the week that the three ladies and I mingle with each other and have our little chit-chat. We may not have spent that much time together, but somehow we became close enough to talk anything without being uncomfortable. I guess it was because they looked up at me as a big brother or a very close friend, although like any normal guy I looked up at them differently – with raw passion. Anyway, after just a few minutes into our casual conversation, I slowly started to put Plan A in motion.

“Hey, have any of you ever noticed something strange in the kitchen?” I asked.

“Yeah,” replied suspect No.1. “Our food in the fridge always vanished overnight. Oh wait, are you telling us that was you?”

“Not really,” I blurted out. “You knew I always eat out. Besides, I don’t think your cooking is good enough for me. You don’t even have a name for what you cook and you always put sugar in everything.”

“Well, what’s in a name? Actually it’s salt; we just labeled it sugar so you won’t dare to touch it. It works pretty much on you.” said suspect No.2. “So if it’s not you, it must be our landlady then. I always thought that that old sucker’s not really on diet. See how big her tummy is? Look like her dead husband is in there!”

I said, “No, I’m not talking about that. And don’t make such bold accusation when you didn’t actually see her doing it.”

“Come on!” quipped suspect No.2. “We don’t need a rocket scientist to figure it out. Pretty much the same when there’s only the two of you in the elevator. When the air is suddenly filled with fart smell and you can swear to all your Gods it’s not you, you’re absolutely sure it’s the other, right?”

“Ok,” I said in agreement. “You’re right, it’s pretty obvious. It must be the landlady. Now let’s go to the kitchen and I’ll show you something.”

I then lead them to the kitchen to see if some of my discoveries earlier in the morning are still there. A deafening laughter erupted when I bent down and pointed at one of the little black thing lying in the floor.

“Whose are these and how did they get here?” I asked. “See, there are so many of them scattered all over the floor.”

“Not mine,” replied my three suspects in unison.

“See, only the three of you is using the kitchen. So going by the same fart-in-elevator crap that you have just pointed out a while ago, it has to be from one or all of you.” I said grinning. “I can understand seeing those in the bathroom or in the bedroom, but in the kitchen? Unless you cook without any underwear! And don’t you ever tell me about your thong because I know for sure that even a thong is wide enough to cover that area. Unless of course you grow your hair down there like they’re growing grass in the pasture. So unless you can provide me with a better explanation, it will always be you, ladies.”

So in between laughter, they started one by one to tell their stories about how impossible it is to be any of them. How they always cover that part very well and how they avoid scratching that part even when it was itchy. I said I still don’t believe them. Tears filled my eyes from laughing so hard when all of a sudden my three suspects confessed that all of them shaves and are actually bald down there.

“So you see, it can’t be one of us. It must be the landlady”, said suspect No.3 with pride. “She must be shedding.”

“Hey, stop it. What is she, a cat?” I said in the defense of the landlady. “I knew dogs and pussy cats shed their hair once in a while, but I never imagined that that kind of pussy does it as well. And oh my God, if I have to believe you ladies, at the rate that landlady’s shedding those hairs she’s the one who’s probably be bald down there right now! Ah, not a very good time to be bald….winter is already here. You know - the cold & flu from down under.”

“But…”

“No buts,” I interrupted. “You knew that she does not cook and that she always wears those tight jeans as if she’s competing with a pack of hotdogs. You’re the one who’s in the kitchen all the time and I don’t believe any of your crap excuses. Why don’t you just show me the farm and prove that there’s really no grass in there? Yeah, a little peek will do!” I continued while smiling sheepishly.

 As it turned out, nobody is willing to do it! And with their strong denials, I didn’t push it any harder and just left the issue hanging but at the back of my head, I am already planning my next step. One way or another, I am going to find the answer and that will be Plan B. But until then, how those short little black curly hairs ended up in the kitchen will remain a little mystery...at least to me.