Son #2 has started Bogarting my hair straightening iron, before school. He doesn't use it where I keep it, he sneaks it into his bedroom and then, THEORETICALLY, returns it to its appointed spot.
Lately, though, it hasn't made the trip back out of Boy Lair. Not that I've cared, all that much. I figure, the less heat styling, the better, for my hair.
Tonight, however, I am going out to watch Hubby sit in with a local band.
This requires a modicum of cuteness, on my part.
I have the cool outfit. I even have the plastic shoes, reminiscent of my childhood. I would be painting my fingernails, too, if I weren't so ticked that I have to blog.
The iron is gone. He swears it is not in his bedroom. He is blaming his brothers (one who is, as I mentioned, sportin' a mighty Jewfro, and two who have naturally straight hair).
I mustn't bite the boy. I must paint my nails and hope he finds the darn thing.
And tomorrow, I buy a new one.
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