If you’ve got hair, (and I’m not judging because, Sweetman… well, he doesn’t) then you will totally know the feeling I’m about to describe.
You’re going about your business and you feel a hair that has clearly sprung loose from your head. It’s somewhere right… over… there. No! Maybe farther down your back, right down… there. NO! Dadgumit! Where is that blasted hair?
You can feel it. It tickles the back of your arm every time you turn slightly left. Or bend down to get the stray cheerio off the floor.
Determined to find it, you start grabbing at the back of your shirt in quick grabby bursts, hoping that you’ll nab it.
And suddenly, you find yourself on an all-out assault on this errant hair.
But, then, you’ve had it! So, you remove your arms from the sleeves of your shirt and turn the thing around so that you can do a full-on search for this dratted hair.
AH! There you are… gotcha!
Except, your darling husband walks in to find you standing in the middle of the room, eyes all wild, with neither of your arms through the sleeve holes in your shirt, irritated as all get out, muttering about a hair.
He looks at you like he doesn’t know whether to snap a picture and Instagram it, or potentially have you committed.
So, you say, “You know when you can’t find that one hair?”
And he calmly says, “No.”
And you realize that you are directing your question to the (nearly) bald-headed love of your life.
This leads to a deep sigh.
From both of you.
Followed, thankfully, by laughter.
And that, my friends, is marriage.