- I am not too freaked out by bugs
- And I really like my personal space
But I think you did just fine. One of the few reasons to touch someone else without an excuse. I don’t want to have to go the whole day with a dead bug in my hair.
Well, I didn’t actually touch her, you know. It’s not like I rummaged through her hair like a chimp grooming for lice. The bug was sitting there, immobile, actually on her scalp, in between a couple of rows of permed and dyed curls. And I just reached out and plucked it off without touching her actual hair or scalp or anything.
I’d have flicked a bug off her shoulder the same way, and I wouldn’t have wondered whether it was an invasion of privacy. But there was something about the combination of “bug” and “hair” that made me wonder, afterwards…Maybe “head hair” is a bit more intimate than “shoulder”.
ETA: and while pondering Otto’s response, I suddenly realized that I wouldn’t even have considered removing a bug from a man’s hair, or even shoulder. A male with a bug on his shoulder would have gotten a “You’ve got a bug there [pointing]”.
That’s the other thing, too - if my hair was really coiffed so nicely, then me picking it out without a mirror just might cause me to mess up my own hair! So better that you pick it out.
shrug I think the whole thing is fairly meh. And I give you permission, should you ever see a bug in my hair, to pick it out. If it’s a centipede, don’t tell me until it’s out and you’ve already squished it, though.
I think I’d take out the video camera and when you asked, “What are you doing with that?” I’d say, “You’ve got a centipede in your hair!!” camera starts recording ensuing hysterics
d&r
Actually, what you should have done is this:
“Um, excuse me, you’ve got… uh… I’m sorry, do you mind? just hold still for a second…”
(No mention of “bug,” to avoid triggering a fear response, plus a request for permission to assist.)
Reach out and pluck the bug as actually occurred.
Bring the hand holding the bug close to your face, with a studied squint of examination.
Then slap your hand to your throat, and begin screaming: “Auughh! Killer bug! Killer bug! It’s got me! It’s got me!”
Then drop to the floor behind the register counter and thrash about. Emit occasional blood-curdling howls of battle: “Die! Die, you villain! Arrgh!” From time to time, allow a brief silent pause as if the melee has concluded, and then resume thrashing.
After thirty seconds or so, stand up with a satisfied expression, and unclench your fist to display the crushed arthropod. “There,” you say. “Got it.”
Deposit the dead bug in the trash while the woman stares at you.
Finally, favor her with a wide smile. “Paper or plastic?”
Provided I get a portion of the proceeds when it wins a prize, have at it!
While I am with Miss Manners on this one – tell the other party there is a bug in his/her hair and ask if they want it removed (who knows? it might be their current best friend!), and the other dopers who are thinking that her reply was more along the lines of you being far more kind than her own children – I will relate a story.
My husband is in the National Guard. His NCO is a great guy – big, redneck guy (ok, well, not so much redneck as he has got a brain) who likes to hunt and fish and generally do manly things. One thing stands out about this guy, though – he is insanely afraid of spiders. Now, I’m not talking big, fat, hairy spiders that anyone with any common sense might be squicked out over – I am talking about even the tiniest, most pathatic ones. To the tune of him (6’1", 200lbs, easy) asking me (5’3", 125lbs) to kill a spider for him.
On a recent hunting trip with one of the other guys from the unit, a caterpillar fell on his shoulder. The other guy started to tell him about the caterpillar by pointing and saying “hey, you’ve got a” that’s about how much came out of his mouth before the NCO basically stripped down to his underwear, thinking he had a spider on him. He seriously freaked out. Of course, now I joke that “all I have to do to get you naked is tell you there’s a spider on you” with him. Meh.
I clicked on this thread because I misread the title as “Should I have picked the dead **dog **out of this woman’s hair?”. I’m bitterly disappointed.
Oddly enough, this issue came up in a job interview I had today.
Well, OK, not quite. The bug was alive, and in MY hair.
I was feeling it crawl around, but didn’t know it was a bug–I thought it was just one of those “gotta scratch” itches which crop up when one is in a situation where one really musn’t scratch, and so was ignoring it with all my might, rather than fidget with my hair.
Suddenly, the guy sitting next to me said “Excuse me, Eureka”, stood up, and bent over my hair with a piece of paper in his hand.
He did inform me that there was a bug in my hair, but I think he waited until he was almost touching my hair. (The bug was in my part, about where my bangs would come from if I had bangs).
Because he was almost touching the bug, I made every effort to sit still until the bug was safely removed to the other room and squished.
I thought it was handled very well. And then I thought about this thread . . .