It’s been kind of a rough week, so since I didn’t have a ton of time-sensitive things to do today, I blocked out some Me Time. Dropped The Daughter off at her grandparents’, took a nice long shower, and decided to try some new henna hair treatment. Now, I’ve done henna before and it’s messy, so my best hack for not ruining clothes or towels draped over clothes is to apply hair coloring in the buff. Therefore, post-shower, I’m humming along, glopping this baby-poop colored and textured substance happily onto my head, and just when I get it spiked into some really interesting formations… the doorbell rings. The doorbell. I mean, who does that anymore? It’s too early for mail or UPS, I’m not expecting anyone, so it must be the dreaded Pop-Over Visit or someone selling something. If I could have been sure that it was a salesman, I’d have gone and answered it in my birthday suit, my hair all caked in goo, and explained that now was not a good time. If they still went ahead with their pitch, then props to them for poise. But… it could have been a neighbor. We have some new ones next door whom we’ve not frightened off yet and we do like them. It could also have been Girl Scouts — it’s cookie time, you know.
So, hilarious as that choice would have been for somebody, I remained in the bathroom ’til whoever it was went away. They didn’t leave a package or note, so the mystery remains. I hope it wasn’t Publisher’s Clearing House. Oh, well.
What’s the most ridiculous get-up you’ve ever gone to the door in?