21. Getting scratched. Again.

Little Hairy-Harry could scarcely believe what was happening to him. What luck! He had a really pleasant, friend, with every hair on his head impeccably conditioned, coiffed, and shiny, who was teaching him heaps of things, who told stories that were passionate, mysterious, and enigmatic. And highly obscure too.

One detail bothered him, nonetheless. The pressure inside him was building up and up and up, to at least as much as... oof! The previous time, it had all been much too much. Just too much for the likes of a little bum hair like him. 

Little Hairy-Harry was concerned about Yaya’s dietary habits. Not that he disapproved of the choice of tomato juice, but the consequences of it put his poor nerves to great test.

‘I’m going to need to treat myself to a spa getaway one of these days. I simply can’t take it any longer,’ he thought.

‘Enough already with this blasted thingumy-whatsit! Heeelp!’

The huge, bizarre thingumy-whatsit dove down towards his hide-out, and scratched and scratched.

The ground was becoming all red and bumpy and Yaya had vanished.

‘Oh, Yaya!’

‘Yeah, yeah. I’m here behind you, you silly nitwit. I think I’m gonna chow further off, thataway. Cause it looks like you’re too hyper-bloody-sensitive for a hair follicle.’

Little Hairy-Harry, fretful, but unable to turn around, simply had to trust Yaya. It was at that exact moment that a missile was fired from the launch pad in the direction of an exquisite, ultramarine blue sky. And a soft, pleasant drizzle cooled the air. 

It dawned on Little Hairy-Harry that he was beginning to tire of Yaya.