Lessons Learned in the Bathroom

Last weekend, I had to go to my uncles house for Easter Dinner. I always dread going there, because his wife and I just don't get along.

It was with a very heavy heart that I drug myself away from an enthralling computer game to start getting ready to leave.

Step One - Find something suitable to wear. That wasn't too hard. A nice skirt, my favourite sling-back heels, and a simple top. Problem solved.

Step Two - Try to do something half sensible with my hair. This is where things started to go terribly wrong.

My hair is actually one of my favourite features. It's thick and healthy, and has a nice natural colour. But, it's curly. Very curly. Since my uncles' wife delights in making snide remarks about my riotous curls, I decided to take the time and straighten it all out.

It generally takes me about 2 hours to get it styled properly, what with the blow drying, applying various anti-frizz chemicals, and the hot iron. It's something that I don't do very often because, frankly, I'm just not that fussed about my appearance most days.

Because I can't stand still and stay quiet for more than 2 minutes at a time, it wasn't long before I was giving a concert in the bathroom, singing at the top of my lungs. This is when I learned my first lesson: my bathroom has really fantastic acoustics. I was really getting into the spirit of things, belting out songs and generally having a good time.

The second lesson came shortly after, when I started adding a few funky dance steps to the entertainment. As it turns out, dancing while you've got a prickly comb in one hand, and a hot blow dryer in the other, is not a great idea. After I'd impaled myself with the comb, and nearly burnt my ear off with the blow dryer, I had to give up on the dance routine, and settle for the vocals.

By this time, my husband had decided to come and see what the heck was going on. He hadn't thought anything about the singing, but apparently the shouts of pain were a bit disconcerting for him.

Being a guy, who has no concept of what's involved in using a hot iron to straighten hair, he shoved the door open with reckless force.

Naturally, I was standing just beside the door, hot iron balanced precariously near my head. And, of course, the door hit my arm, driving the scalding iron into my neck. That hurt. A lot. I wasn't in the mood for singing after that, so the rest of the hair styling passed in relative silence.

Finally, my hair was

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