I tried to wash that man right out of my hair, just like the song says, but I ran into a few complications.
One, I couldn’t find the right shampoo at Walgreen’s. (Exactly what ingredient should you look for? Essence of Man-Gone? Botanical Banishment? Pregnancy-Scare Prunes?) Somebody really needs to write a brochure about this.
Two, I never do anything unless I’m in full makeup, so it was kind of hard to direct the shower spray without destroying my impeccable foundation. (Why can’t plumbers design a contraption that helps a woman feel beautiful even when she’s rinsing off the crustiness of last night’s shouldn’t-have-done-that?)
And three, I was completely distracted by the realization that I have an amazingly robust left bicep. (I don’t know what I did to get such a thing, but apparently I did it a lot…)
Previously published in “Crusty Pie” and “Bonnywood Manor”. Some changes made for this post. Just minor ones, though. After yesterday’s fervent revision that turned into a 70-page exposé on cooter conundrums, I thought it best to dial things back a notch and just do a snack-size post.
Categories: Past Imperfect