Don't look at me like that. It makes perfect sense.
No, really stop it. I am NOT crazy. Did my husband tell you I was crazy? Because there are plenty of things I could tell you about him.
Okay, I'll explain.
Since my hair has gotten longer (epically long in my opinion, but that's another story), I have cut down on how often I wash it so it doesn't become a static cling nightmare. I have figured out that if I wash it every three days then I don't look like Yahoo Serious, or an oil slick. Because I work at the crack of dawn, I prefer if only one of these days falls on a weekday.
My plan would be perfect if there were only six days a week. Damn Saturday.
In my previous world Saturday meant either washing, and then washing again on Sunday to set the schedule right, and the static balance of my hair wrong; or NOT washing, and looking like a walking rendition of the gulf coast following the BP spill.
Then, I discovered "PSSSST!"
No, it's not a spy firm, or a porn firm, or a compressed air firm. It's a dry shampoo. Several sprays on Saturday means I don't have to wash my hair, and no one thinks I am going to ask them for money. Oh, and my schedule stays in tact.
See? It makes sense. Right? When I told my husband about it he asked me if I also like to drive slow on the driveway and if I buy my underwear at K-Mart. You don't think that though, do you?
Oh, god, you do.