I knew it was an inevitable as my future sag-n-bag boobs. Give this incompetent fetus something pretty and shiny, and it'll surely crumble to the ground in 80 pieces of despair. Ask my pet gerbil, Ginger.
I left my straightener on . . . and now, there's a giant burn mark on our bathroom counter. (Read: Praise Jesus the house didn't burn to the ground.) I would have taken a picture, but it was the my-fat-jeans-no-longer-fit kind of depressing.
You know what the real kicker in the tinkle taco is? I didn't even straighten my hair yesterday! Instead I sock-bunned the crap out of my unmanageable cloud of frizz that glooms and dooms every morning (especially when I sleep on it wet like the horribly lazy gal that I am).
Those orange lines haunted my slumber. I tossed and turned. Could this be a sign that God wants us to replace the counter tops sooner than we thought? (Grahm said negative, apparently his connection to the Lord's will is stronger than mine.)
During my restless night, I was on Pinterest trying to find the solution. Turns out, I'm not the only blonde bimbo who has done this! Tonight, I'm going to concoct a magical potion of baking soda, tooth paste, and the hair of a unicorn's bum in hopes that the new "decoration" has the staying power of the pimple I sometimes get on my inner thigh. Cross your lady fingers for me.
Grab a button, and link up with the sensational Katie and me today!