Eh, Your Mother's Mustache.

Crunch. Crunch. Cruuuunnnnccchhh.

What in the world?

When I open my eyes, all I see is a blur of words.

And my nose feels weird. Like it's asleep. All tingly.

Crunch.

I pick up my head, out of my book.

And I see Zane. Eating my Pringles.

My vision is all blurry and I feel drool on my mouth. Ew, I'd drooled all over my book!

I squint my eyes at Zane. "Why are you eating my Pringles?"

Crunch.

He smiles. Apparently something is funny. "You look like you lost a fight with a wall."

Crunch.

I squint again. The sun was coming through the windows of the break room. "What are you talking about?"

Crunch.

Zane points to my face.

"How long have I been out?" The last thing I remembered was reading. I had just gotten to the part where... Wait. I couldn't remember the last thing I read.

"I don't know. Like half-an-hour, I guess." Zane loses no time shoving more of my Pringles in his mouth.

I get up and walk to the bathroom to examine my face and laughed out loud when I did. Zane was right. I looked like I'd lost a fight with a wall.

My entire forehead was bright red and my nose was blotchy red and looked smashed and a little crooked.

Great.

I'd had trouble staying awake at work all day. Even when I was shampooing someone, my eyelids had felt heavy.

It had just been a crummy day. I was exhausted and worrying about my husband and all the bills.

And I hated working on Saturdays. But alas, everyone wants their hair done on Saturdays.

So a few hours later, with a huge red mark still on my forehead, I collect my paycheck and what's left of my Pringles and head out to my car.

Usually on Saturdays after work, I just go home and take a nap and then stay up half the night watching rented Blockbuster movies with my husband.

But since for the time being my husband is out of commission, for lack of better words, and I've got absolutely nothing to do... Because Mom and Dad are at work...

So I go for plan, "Mother's Mustache."

Now, this may sound weird, but it's an inside joke in my family. Whenever you want to do or say something that you shouldn't or that would be offensive, it's my family's version of, "Just screw it."

We say, "Eh, your mother's mustache."

For example:

Me: "Hey, Mom. Smoking is bad for you. As crazy as you make me I'd like to keep you around a few more years."

My mother: "Eh, your mother's mustache."

Lol. We're weird.

So today instead of just heading home to crawl into bed, I drive across town to Long Horn, the steak house. And if you've never been, you should go, if not for anything else but their massive chocolate dessert called, "Chocolate Stampede."

On bad days, I go in and ask for a booth for one. Order a water and one Chocolate Stampede.

These are the days when the logical side of my brain says, "Mandie, that's an awful lot of calories to be consuming. There are better ways to work out frustration and bad days... Like going to the gym, or washing your neglected car, or just eating a healthy snack instead."

And this is when the non-logical side of my brain says, "Eh, your mother's mustache."