One would think I’d use a little forethought, having spent 45 minutes on perfecting my hair this morning, and when walking the 10 blocks to lunch, brought an umbrella.
I emerged with my curry wrap to a monsoon and immediately began to run. Anyone who knows me knows that I won’t run for my life much less for my health. But goddamn it, I ran for my hair.
Black after block, I booked it, pretending that I could outrun the dreaded downpour. I can only imagine what I looked like; handbag swinging, curry wrap over my head, screaming obscenities as I leapt over puddles and aimed for awnings.
I made it back to my office, huffing, puffing and dripping and dried myself off in the ladies. I looked at the reflection staring back at me in the paper towel dispenser and accepted my fate.
No matter how much expensive product and delicate blow drying I subject my coif to, God will always get the last laugh. Or cry, as the case may be…