“Why do you need two?” my husband asked as he stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and grabbed another off the counter, rubbing his hair dry.
“Two what,” I replied, leaning into the mirror to swipe mascara through my lashes.
“Two hair dryers, ” he said pointing to the appliances, one white–one black, slung like holsters in the open drawers that flank each end of my dressing table.
“Because I can’t do that,” I said, pointing my mascara wand in the direction of his nearly dry head.
“No really, ” he said, seeming oddly curious.
“I’m trying them both out to find the best one. You know. The best. Fastest, quietest, most portable, lightest–the best.”
“You and the best. Good thing you only had one blind date the week we met. I could have been in trouble,” he said, resting his foot on the counter to dry his ankle.
“It makes the big decisions easier if I practice on the small ones,” I replied, dusting my face with my bronzing brush.
“Like my search for the best doctor for my ‘girl parts’ surgery. I think I’ve finally decided,” I added, sliding my lips sideways to even my lip gloss.
“Really, which one?” he asked pulling a t-shirt over his head and running his fingers through his hair, hand parting it on the side.
“The guy who said he would just sew my vagina shut,” I said calmly, picking up my round brush and the dryer on the left to smooth my bangs.
He turned and smiled cautiously. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Yep, but it sure makes ‘I’m going to Neiman Marcus’ a lot less threatening, now doesn’t it,” I said, blowing him an air kiss and walking out of the bedroom.