A few days ago I reach down to “my corner” of the shower (the one with one bottle, not twelve), and pull up a new shampoo. Timely. I had just run out, and I’m married to a wonderful wife who always keeps me stocked up. Obsessed with good smelling shampoo (the real reason I still use it), I decided to see what my bald head was going to indulge in for the next few weeks.
But what caught my eye was not the flavor. It was the type of shampoo. Or rather, the type of hair this particular shampoo is used for. Shampoo. For long hair. And better still, shampoo for people who have apparently had, or are intending to have, a long term relationship with their long hair.
I have neither. And worse yet, it even mocked me in Spanish.
But the personal products story is not over. In an attempt to curb my hellacious snoring via the Dutch nose I inherited from my father, my wife bought me Breathe Right Strips. Only my genuine excitement for my wife’s long-awaited peaceful night’s sleep motivated me to apply the strange fitting latex band. A glorified Band Aid really. Why don’t I just spend less money and stick a Dora the Explorer bandage on my face?
I read the directions, stuck the thing over my nose, then went to sleep. Hoping for the best.
Surprisingly, my nose was unusually clear during the night. Deep breaths. I liked it. And not as uncomfortable as I would have thought. So much so, that I forgot I had it on when I woke up at 6:55am to the word “Done!” coming from the other bathroom. Done is the one word my kids use to signal Jennifer and I that, “Hey, Parent, I’ve just pooped a lot on the toilet, I lack the needed motor skills to properly wipe myself, and I really need you because I’m tired of sitting here with this smell I’ve created.” I climb out of my bed, walk into the hallway, and find Eva sitting on the toilet. Waiting. As I reach down to do the deed, she says, “Dad, what the crap’s wrong with your nose?”
Note to self. Remove Breathe Right Strip before wiping 4 year old’s butt. (Why wasn’t that on the directions?)
I crawled back into bed only after sending Eva to try and “sleep in” on this Saturday morning (a term I don’t think she’ll ever quite grasp, as she’s this morning-guy’s daughter). I’m just about to enter my REM stage when something wakes me up. No, not “done” again. Not my 5 month old telling the whole house he’s hungry. Not even my 3 year old playing WWF off the rungs of his crib. What was it you ask?
And when asked how my Breathe Right Stripes worked? She said, “Uh, I think it was louder.” Nice. ch: