I realized I had a decision to make. Do I call my husband who has been at work since the rump crack of dawn, and admit that my facade of being anxiously engaged is a sham, as I am JUST NOW realizing my plight? Or do I slather pits in deodorant and work some baseball cap magic, in order to keep up pretenses?
In the end, I shampooed in icicles that dripped from the faucet, turning my brain blood to slush, so that I might not have another elephant pooh hair encounter. Then throwing dignity to the wind, I called and came clean (figuratively) to my man.
And lucky for me, I am the only finger pointer/head bobber in this household, thus hubbie didn't even raise a fiber optic eyebrow. Just picked up the parts and fixed it like the brilliant mechanic that he is. And I wish I could say I learned my lesson. That from this day forward, I will jump out of bed and fling my flappy body into the refreshing mist without missing a beat. But the Lord hates liars.
He told me so when we were talking about...well, I shouldn't say.
(pointing finger...but totally not at you ;) )