Student - October 10, 2013


The story so far: Neither his studies nor his love life is going very well for eternal student Willem-Jan. For sporty Derk, on the other hand, it seems to be plain sailing at the moment.

An itch. Argh! How irritating. Willem-Jan, still half asleep, scratched his thigh frantically, going on and on until it started bleeding. Furious, he rolled over again and tried to get back to sleep. Half an hour later he couldn’t stand it anymore and got up. It was six o’clock in the morning as he stood in front of the mirror. 
There was a line of red spots from his right groin to his knee. The itching was driving him crazy and the only remedy he could think of was to take a shower. The cool water relieved the itching for a while and his thoughts began to run away with him. That nice blonde of two nights ago came to mind. She smiled back at him, he bought her a beer. She hopped on the back of his bike to go back to her room at Hoevestein for an uncomfortable but interesting night in her single bed. Willem-Jan’s gaze returned to the spots on his leg. Surely not? What a slut!
He leapt out of the shower and dried himself down. The itching started up again immediately. In despair he rubbed sun cream into the spots. It stung but it was the only cream he had and surely it would help. He opened his laptop and Googled ‘pubic lice’. ‘Because a lot of people shave their pubic hair, pubic lice are becoming rarer,’ he read. ‘Well, not everywhere in the world,’ he thought to himself scornfully. He read on feverishly. ‘Symptoms are persistent itching, sores from scratching and insects on the hairs around the genitals and in the underwear.’
After scrutinizing himself for half an hour, Willem-Jan  hadn’t found anything. Not an insect to be seen. He searched his bed and the boxer shorts he had worn for the last few days. No insects there either. Meanwhile the itching was in full swing again. The only remedies he could think of were ice or vinegar. He crept into the kitchen in his dressing gown.

Derk was sitting on the sofa tying the laces on his running shoes when Willem-Jan came in. Willem-Jan rummaged through the cupboards and found a bottle of vinegar. All he found in the freezer were some frikadellen  [a kind of minced meat hot dog, ed.]. He tucked one into his pocket, just for good measure. Derk looked at him and raised his eyebrows. ‘Regretting that chick the other day? Acting on impulse can have undesirable consequences,’ he pronounced in a theatrically pedantic tone. Willem-Jan blushed. ‘Man, what are you on about?’ he replied just a bit too emphatically. As he stormed back to his room, Derk called after him: ‘Bedbugs at Hoevestein.’