In Ireland they tell it like it is

As the title suggests: In Ireland they tell it like it is. For instance, when on obscenely long work trips you are bound to run out of something. Be it toothpaste or be it patience. This time I ran out of shampoo. So, in the name of cleanliness, off I go down to the local five and dime to get some new shampoo. (Oooh how I love unintentional rhyme!) On arrival I am bombarded by the typical fifty thousand different varieties promising to make my hair full, give it volume, make it speak etc...Well, as I am cursed, or is it blessed, with an overabundance of unruly hair, I am always trying to tame it and make it appear neat and clean. This can be a bit of a trial as my hair appears oily easily and is often likely to bust out of any comely prison I can concoct. Now, if you will, picture me standing in front of a never ending immensely tall display. I am on the verge of a full blown pissy panic attack from trying unsuccessfully to find a worthwhile product out of the myriad of useless lying ones. And then suddenly, as if by incantation, my eyes drift to that mystical green bottle that we know so well. Green for Ireland, green for grass, green for, well jello shots maybe. I love jello shots! Yes, my children I found the Herbal Essence bottle with its gentle green glow upon its softly colorful label. I am so relieved I am almost moved to tears. I reach my hand out for that bottle, you know, the one for limp hair. But then I see something odd? It's like an attack on my eyes! It must be joking. No, I guess that shampoo bottles more than likely have little discernible humor. It really is insulting me. It very plainly states that it is for 'GREASY hair'. How rude is that. I don't consider myself a 'greasy' person, would you? Does anybody, in fact consider themselves a greasy person? I think not. I might tend toward the funky occasionally, but what are weekends for, right? But this little bottle is calling me out with all it's talk of grease and implied funk. I look away first. Okay, maybe I spent the last thirty six hours in my funk ridden old pajamas eating room service and not showering. But, but, but...Damn it! I guess I am kind of greasy right now. But I wouldn't say that I am disgusting. This tiny clean bottle with all it's muted colors and promises of many shower orgasms is telling me that I am too disgusting for it. I am ashamed. I want to curl up in a tiny ball or throw myself in the cleansing river waters. You know, just get clean whatever the cost so that I may be worthy of this bottle and its redolent green goodness. But no. It is not to be. I put that little taunter back on it's shelf with all of the other bottles. All of the nice ones. The ones that don't throw casual insults at complete strangers no matter how dirty they may be. And then I bought some Pantene. Cause everybody hates a sanctimonious, know it all, cleansing products.