I Gave the UPS Man the Hot Oil Treatment

I decided to give my hair a leisurely hot oil treatment.  My stylist said to load up my hair with seamen (I mean serum…although, a bunch of seamen massaging oil in my hair sounds pretty good). After getting all oiled up she said to put a plastic grocery sack over my hair, cover it with my wool ski hat and relax.

After thinking about those seamen I can’t relax so I decided to work.  I was sitting at my computer trying to think with the swish, swish, swish of the plastic bag driving my OCD insane.  OK, let’s just say insaner than I am every day.  And yes, I know insaner is not a word according to Webster and his dictionary. But, think of how much fun it would be to put out your own dictionary every year.  I would definitootly include the word insaner.

After sharpening all my mechanical pencils it was apparent working was obviously not an option either, so I decided to do Wii Fit. Still in my robe, buck-naked, boobs flopping while jogging to animation, there was a knock at the front door.

“UPS,” he said, “we need a signature for your package.”

Ah crap.   “I’m not exactly presentable.  You know it’s me, can’t you just sign for me.”

“Wish I could, but you know the rules.”

I see the bottle of Windex sitting on the entry table where I left it last week hoping I’d clean the front windows.  My insaner brain has an idea…I pick it up.  “Here’s the deal.  You raise your hands where I can see them.  When I open the door you better not have a cell phone poised to take my picture or I’ll have to shoot.”

I hear him chuckle. “Deal.”  Damn, my UPS guy delivers enough packages here that he’s seriously not even afraid I might shoot him.

Slowly, I open the door, Windex bottle poised to fire.  “I swear if you laugh I will shoot you.”

“No worries, Mrs. MacKay,” he says with hands raised above his head, “Just sign and I’ll be on my way.”

I kept one hand on the Windex, signed with the other, and watched him for any sudden moves to go for a camera phone.  “I don’t suppose I could pay you not to talk about this back at the garage.”

“Not a chance,” he said laughing, running back to the truck.

I bent down to pick up the package and discovered my robe had come untied.   Definitootly, the last time I hot oil anything….ever!