The Devil hid my hair crack

Super Dad and I have endeavored for years to make our Sunday mornings peaceful and pleasant ones. We’ve become pretty good at it, too. Sunday is important around here, and it’s just not the day for manic morning stress.

So I was frustrated yesterday morning when an event threatened ever so briefly to steal my joy. It happened, as it usually does, when I was already just a little bit antsy. You see, we had a salad luncheon scheduled at the church. Bringing a food offering for the Baptist pot luck is a source of stress for me which I will have to yak about at a later time.

And the devil knows this. Therefore, it’s often on Baptist Pot Luck Sunday that he amps up his morning mischief. Generally, he does this in one of two ways. Either he sneaks into my closet unawares and does a little creative clothes alteration, or he messes with my hair style.

Yesterday, it was both.

It wasn’t bad enough that he took the black skirt that I was planning to wear and tossed it into the dirty laundry… Or that he had secretly stitched in the side seams on the next six things that I tried on…

He also hid my Hair Crack.

Hair Crack is what I call a wonderful little product which I am glad to endorse this morning.

It looks like this:

But when you pour a little in the palm of the hands, it looks like this.

And when you dust a little bit of it onto the head… and then work it into the roots, it makes even forty- something hair stand at happy attention… all day long. I highly recommend it, but I must warn you: Once you have tried it, you too will become a crack head.

Because Hair Crack is the only sure solution that I know to the problem of hormone hair. By this, I’m referring to those days when the entire texture of our hair changes. It's hormones which make usually well behaved strands of hair become completely limp and laminate themselves to the side of the head. It's hormones which periodically make Hillary Clinton morph into Madeleine Albright. (Someone needs to tell Hillary about Hair Crack. I have considered sending her some myself, but I’m pretty sure that it is unwise to send white crystallized substances to public figures via the U. S. Postal Service.)

I know that hormones are to blame for these things for two reasons:

1. The symptoms are cyclical

2. At 48, hormones are to blame for everything.

And they were to blame for one third of my stress yesterday morning. Because in addition to the Potluck and Wardrobe anxiety, I was staring at a serious case of hormone hair. So I reached for the miracle cure...

And it was missing.

Someone had obviously moved it. I titched. Then I searched the entire vanity area. I opened every drawer. I got down on my knees and searched the floor… I got back up and searched the bathroom shelves. I explored the other three vanity areas in my house. Nothing.

Deciding that VERA must be to blame, I dumped the entire contents of my both my zippered tote and cosmetic bag onto the bed.

Nope. 

 I pictured myself walking into church with my Baptist Potluck Salad, all decked out with ill- fitting clothes and hormone hair and decided that I should keep on looking.

Finally, I found it.

And you’ll never guess where…

Here.

In the bottom of the incredible traveling innie.

Well, of course.