The irony of ironing

I blow dried by hair this morning.

That may not seem like a big deal to you, but man, it's a lot of work! First the application of various goops, struggling with the part, jugggling the appliances and brushes (of which there are more than two) and clips. Man, it's exhausting.  Then comes the flat iron.

I went the extra mile and put on makeup. Even mascara. Mascara is heavy, did you know that?  By the end of the day, my eyelids are going to be tired from the extra effort of keeping my eyes open. Nobody tells you mascara requires a gradual building up of endurance.

I spritzed a little perfume, and chose sparkly earrings.

All this because earlier in the week, a very cute boy... well, a man, really... from the town's works department came in to my workplace to arrange for when he would paint a wall for us. Today was to be that day His eyes twinkled at me..

That's right... I did this to myself for a boy.

I got to work just as he walked out, wall freshly and perfectly painted. We were in the same room for all of 12.5 seconds.

Ironic.