SMOKING GUN

It was one of those mornings when I squandered a few a lot of precious minutes reading blogs. I was just going to visit one or two, but overnight a lot of brilliant posts had appeared. Now I was really running late for work. A quick shower, clothes and a slice of toast. All I had left was to apply a few layers of paint to my face so I wouldn’t scare children, do something with my wet hair, and rush out the door.

I was in the bathroom working over my wet mop when: PTANG! BeeeZang! FizzT! and my blow dryer stopped humming and started shooting sparks. Then all went quiet and I was left standing there holding a smoldering weapon. Kinda felt like Dirty Harry--

“I know what you're thinking. "Did she fire six shots or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”

But my smoking gun dryer was useless against sopping hair. In fact the dryer was totaled. I tossed it and went for the next best source of hot moving air; the furnace vent in the floor. So there I was kneeling with my head over the heater vent and my rear in the air. This was inelegant in so many ways. And my hair was still wet. FINE. I drove to work with my head to one side over the warm air coming out of the dash vent. There is no law (yet) against driving and drying.