It's 6:50 AM. I'm running late (again), and my hair is wild. I wash it every night before I go to bed knowing that in the morning I'll be too dazed and exhausted to take a shower. The result, unfortunately, is mad hair every morning. Bobbi pins save me every time. Frantically, I put my hair up into a French twist, bun, or intricate, interweaving cords, all tightly bound by innumerable Bobbi pins. To restrain my long, fine, free-spirited hair, at least 30 to 35 Bobbi pins must be sacrificed. Throughout the day, they fly out, crashing against the driver's seat, my sterile desk, and countless numbers lie strewn upon the limitless floor.
Justin inevitably finds my pins in the most obscure and curious places: under the couch, behind the TV, in the Bathtub, next to the computer speakers, inside his left, brown dress shoe.
Its amazing how such a small thing can yield such a massive impact on my life.