When in doubt, blame the dog.

This morning was one of those mornings where everything that could go wrong, DID go wrong (but not for me). It was the husband's turn to have a bad day for a change, and as the morning unfolded, so did a turn of events that would mark another hysterical moment in the life of an only child.

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It started off simple enough–with the cat sleeping on his scarf, which isn't really a big deal for those of us without allergies. But to anyone else, that's the kiss of death when it's cold outside, and this morning's high was 21°. After a brisk hike through the neighborhood with the dog, he comes in to get ready for work. He's been taking the pip to school lately; so timing is everything, which gives new meaning to the word oxymoron. As he struggles to play Beat The Clock, his daughter decided to play a secret game of Hide-And-Go-Seek... With his glasses.

Now he's running late, which is no surprise to anyone because he always is. And just as he is stepping into the shower, I remind him that he needs to pull the shower rod down because the new liner I bought isn't long enough and water keeps leaking all over the bathroom floor. He seems annoyed at this request, but waves me off and begins to tug at the curtain anyway. Then...

<<Screams, cursing>>

Me: "What's wrong?"

Him: "How the hell does this thing work? I'm gonna be late... Can you please HELP ME?!"

Me: "You have to screw it to make it fit. You oughtta know how to do THAT?!" *Laughs*

Him: "That's real funny. Can you just hold that end so it doesn't fall on my head again?"

He fixes the curtain and I go about my business. Two minutes later I hear him ask the pip to "go ask your mother where MY shampoo is." Turns out I accidentally bought conditioner instead ofshampoo (Oopsie, my bad). But in my defense, the cheap-ass brand that he likes has over fifty options; several of which are all-in-ones (who knew there was such a thing as an all-in-one conditioner?). So I tell him to use my WEN because it's all-natural and shouldn't affect his "delicate little skin." I explain how it works and go back to what I was doing. Then I hear the pip telling him "it's lavender and makes your hair smell really good!"–Which isn't really a selling point for her father. So I go back in for some added reassurance and tell him "if you like it, I can buy you the original scented formula." But he isn't listening; he's just talking over me saying that he'll "buy his OWN damn shampoo from now on because he doesn't want to smell like a girl." 

Him: "I can't use scented shampoo anyway, that's why I buy my own!"

Me: "Well, I hate to break it to you, but the shampoo you've been using for the last nine years is doused in perfume! And when was the last time YOU bought shampoo anyway?"

Him: "I buy the unscented one!"

Me: "They don't MAKE an unscented one!"

Him: "Yes, they do! That's what I ALWAYS get!"

Me: "You haven't bought shampoo since we started dating. And even if they DID make one that was unscented, they don't anymore! You've been using the SCENTED one for the last nine years, tough-guy, and guess what? IT SMELLS LIKE A GIRL!"

We go back and forth about the ingredients in the shampoo that he normally uses and how it compares to mine. Finally, I dig the empty bottle out of the trash, rip the shower curtain back and shove it under his nose, "Go ahead, SMELL IT!" I demand, and then I wait... Because I know the battle is over. He leans in, takes a hearty whiff and doesn't say a word. "Told you so!" I laugh, "Oh yeah, that is SO manly!" *Smirks* I can tell he's not in the mood for my shenanigans any longer so I saunter back into the bedroom, clinging to my victory bottle like it was a Nobel Peace Price. Then a few minutes later, I hear another pathetic cry for help...

"Damn it! What the hell is THAT?"

He's sitting down now and it appears that he was in the middle of putting on his socks when he felt something in his back pocket.

Me: "What NOW?"

Him: "There's something in my poc..." He reaches his hand down and pulls out the last remaining pair of outdated and underpriced eyeglasses that he owned. "Damn it!" 

That's when we see her; our girl, sitting in the corner, trying not to laugh. She wants to laugh hard, you can tell by the way she's holding it in, but she only lets out a small chuckle. We proceed to explain why it is never a good idea to hide someone's eye glasses in the back pocket of their pants and let her off with a warning. But when he leaves the room to finish getting ready, I give her a silent high-five to keep those bubbling tears from dropping onto the floor, "A for effort, babe... But next time, NOT the glasses!"

Needless to say, they're already late for school.

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