My kid is in fifth grade, and is basically 40 years old. He came home last night with a couple of homework assignments that he knocked out pretty quickly in the best way possible, because he's freakishly responsible.

The main thing he had to do was write a two-paragraph story about having a bad hair day, which I'm presenting for you here, in its full, unedited glory. It's a pretty good way to start a Friday, and the cutest expression of existential dread you'll probably ever read. So there's that.

The only thing he asked for help with was finding a better word for terrible, so I showed him the thesaurus. And things will never be the same.


On one of my bad hair days, I will wake up and go make myself breakfast. Then, I will go upstairs and get dressed. Once I have finished getting dressed, I will go in the bathroom to brush my teeth. Which is when I notice my hair, aka "a flock of seagulls on my head". The day just gets worse from there.

I try to wet it down and brush it, but it just won't cooperate. I even try to use gel, but that won't even work. So, I fix my hair as much as I can, but it just stays broken. I have broken hair. All is lost. So I sigh and pack my backpack, then we head out the door and begin the loathsome journey to school. I regret everything.


Have a good weekend, Louisiana!