So in case you missed yesterday's post ... it was my fifteenth wedding anniversary. And after work, my husband had promised to whisk me off to a romantic locale.*
*And by "romantic locale" I mean the movie theater to see Paul Blart Mall Cop 2.
In anticipation of our evening out, I spent the afternoon wrangling my hair into submission. If you don't know about my hair - well, it's naturally terrible. Thick and frizzy and not even cute.
Old picture, but same hair. UGH.
The only time this hot mess looks decent is when I deep-condition and blow-dry and straighten it, which takes forfreakingever. But yesterday was a special occasion, so that's exactly what I did. And it looked great.
About an hour before Curtis was due home, my toddler ran past me and I caught a whiff of something rank: namely, a diaper full of doodoo. He's in the process of potty training, and he has the pee thing pretty much down pat - but the poop thing, not so much.
When I managed to catch him, he had it smeared all down the insides of his thighs. I don't know how toddlers produce man-sized poops, but mine must have bowels the size of King Kong's. It was the kind of mess that only a good wipedown and then a bath can remedy.
As I was drying him off after his bath, I realized that I could still smell poop. I checked him all over to make sure I'd gotten him clean; I had. I looked at my clothes, my shoes, my hands; all spotless. I re-traced my steps to the bathroom to make sure it wasn't on the carpet somewhere. Nope.
And yet ... the unmistakable stench didn't seem to fade. Frustrated, I ran a hand through my hair, as I tend to do when I wear it down. That's when my fingers got inexplicably tangled in the front of it.
In a crusty patch.
In a crusty patch of dried feces.
IN A CRUSTY PATCH OF DRIED FECES IN MY FRESHLY CONDITIONED AND BLOW DRIED AND FLAT-IRONED ANNIVERSARY DATE NIGHT HAIR.
I didn't have the time, nor the desire, to re-wash and re-wrangle my hair. So I desperately grabbed a baby wipe and swiped at the patch in the hope that it would remedy the problem without having to go to such lengths. I could still smell the poop, but I thought maybe the scent was just seared into my nose hairs or something, so I got a second opinion.
"Cameron, quick!" I hissed at my seven-year-old. "What does my hair smell like?!"
He leaned in, sniffed, then recoiled so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.
"Why does your hair smell like poop?!" he choked.
So there was no choice but to wash it. I didn't want to do my whole head, so I pulled most of it back into a ponytail and just washed the poopy part.
Then I blow-dried and straightened it. But I had forgotten to condition it. So it was all static-y and weird and it clung to my skin like a full-face beard.
So then I put some "anti-frizz serum" in it. And accidentally made it oily.
So I had one oily section of hair. Right in the front.
... But at least it didn't smell like poop any more.