In the spirit of confessing my true dorkitude..
As I reached for my Awapuhi leave in conditioner, I was reminded of one time in San Fransisco.
It was the eighties and I was a queen of big,big,biiiigg, hair. I was at a friends house and we were getting ready to protest the new Gap on Haight and Ashbury.(yes, protest, I knew some REAL Russian commies AND Grace Slick AND Wavy Gravy... so there.)
I reached for a can of Aqua Net, and put my blow dryer on full power.
Now I have a good pile of hair, I can make a bouffant in less time than it takes the average person to brush their teeth. And I was an expert at the Siouxie-Sioux hairstyle, but no matter how much ozone I destroyed spraying and blowing and teasing, My hair was as limp as last nights spaghetti strap dress...
I was really mad, then began to smell a queer disinfectant smell. Looking at my hand, I realized I had been spraying my hair with Lysol for the past 15 minutes. The overwhelming patchouli smell in the apartment had kept me from noticing this earlier.
With no time to wash it out I stuck on a beret, grabbed my bucket of fake blood and skulked from the bathroom.
I probably deserved it for using someone else's styling product.