Getting ready for work this morning, I put on a shirt (blouse? shirt?) that had a ruffle ruffling the wrong way. Note to self: take the time to iron the paltry amount of acceptable clothing you own (can you iron ruffles?). Short on time, and without the option of another outfit, I run into our laundry closet and look for that fancy starch stuff. Maybe I can spray-freeze it into place. But we don’t have the fancy starch stuff.

Moping back to my bathroom to glare at my reflection, I look down and notice a bottle of hairspray with a spotlight shining down on it and the angels singing its glory. Hmm….

:: spritz spritz. spritz spritz ::

I mean it’s basically the same thing, right? Holds hair in place… how much different is a ruffle, really?

Different. Very different. I am heading to work this morning with an awry ruffle sticking straight out instead of flopped over to the wrong side. When I turn sideways it pokes out of my chest kind of like a dorsal fin. Only on the front. Facing forward, I look at the fly-aways sticking out defiantly on the top of my head. Do your job SOMEWHERE, ultra-strong hairspray. IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK?

Giving up on the complete disaster before my eyes, I grab my laptop, throw it into a canvas bag entirely unsuitable for protecting such a precious piece of machinery (seeing as it’s, oh, I don’t know, my livelihood). I mentally apologize to my Mac as it clunks against the corner of the wall as I run out the door, and I notice approximately two feet of power cord dangling out of my bag as I head for my car.

I need to take a class on how to be a put-together person. For real.

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