I thought you said curling iron.

Have you ever caught a glance of your home as you close the door to leave for work and think to yourself, "I really hope I don't have an emergency today and people have to come in here and see this, because even in a state of comatose, I would be totally mortified!"?  Well, that has pretty much been my thought every morning for the past, oh, ten to twelve weeks.  And today, my fears came true when two hours into the school day, I realized that I had left two sets of hot rollers plugged in in the bathroom and would need back up.  I immediately imagined Layla howling for help while my apartment - with its piles of laundry and dishes and trash and unread mail - went up in flames.

I made a call to my apartment offices, which weren't open yet (Who opens at 11:00 on a Thursday?!  If you can afford to stay closed that long, then you definitely don't need the seven dollar a month increase you charged me for the next year's rent!), and I was redirected to a woman in North Carolina.  When she asked if I had an emergency, I didn't quite know how to answer.  It is difficult to explain the urgency of needing to unplug a hairstyling tool.  Also, when I think of hot rollers, I think of, "mature" women, so instead of telling her that I had hot rollers plugged in, I lied and said it was a curling iron.  You know, because that makes me less crazy.  Why I do things like that, I do not know.  Like it really matters if some woman in North Carolina, who probably already thinks I'm an idiot, knows that I use hot rollers!  Anyway, I apparently got the point across because ten minutes later, I got a call from the on site maintenance team asking if I did, in fact, have an "electrical emergency."

Do I have an electrical emergency?  Why, yes.  Yes I do.  And could you please fix it by going to my apartment, walking all balance-beam-like through the tiny path in the kitchen that is not obstructed by shoes, school craft projects, and bags of donation clothes, then proceed to play hopscotch through the laundry in the hallway until you dead end at the bathroom door, open it slowly so as not to knock over the the-end-times-are-coming-any-minute-and-we-need-to-be-prepared-sized bag of dogfood and unplug my...my...hot rollers?  What's that?  Oh, yeah, I know it says curling iron, but they're actually hot rollers (Did I just hear a laugh?).  Now, you'll have to be careful of everything balanced on the bathroom counter; one false move, and it all comes tumbling down.  Also, I have a hyperactive dog who is prone to escaping, so when you're coming and going, if you could just kind of squeeze yourself through the smallest possible opening in the doorway (that's right, just suck it all in) and use your foot to keep her inside, that would be great.

So, that was my morning.  A little embarrassing for several reasons, but not the end of the world.  My piles of laundry and dishes and trash and unread mail were still here waiting for me when I got home, as was my dog, who is currently running through said piles, grabbing at various items and tossing them up into the air.  It may be chaos over here, but my hair looks fabulous, if I do say so myself!