Two weekends ago I pulled out every last hair supply I own, put them on my kitchen table and set forth to organize them which is just another way of telling you that they sat on my kitchen table until this past weekend.

As I was organizing them on Saturday evening, I leaned forward too far too quickly and smashed my face into a box which happened to contain one or eleven cans of hairspray. The result is a very visible cut straight across my nose. I am fairly sure that I am the only woman in Tennessee to be able to claim she cut her face in an accident with a can of hair spray.

At least I hope I’m the only woman who can claim it because, hello, that’s something to tell the grandkids about one day.

I was meeting Gosling and British Boy for Saturday night church about ten minutes after the hairspray incident occurred, so I put some Neosporin on the cut and headed towards the church. As I got out of the car, Gosling came up to me to say hello. As he got close, a look of uneasiness began to creep onto his face. He leaned down and said “Before we go in, you have something on your nose.” I was all “Yeah, I know, it’s called Neosporin.” And then he was all “What happened?” And I was all “I cut my nose on a can of hairspray” but he didn’t believe me so he was all “No, really, what happened?” which goes to show you how little he actually knows me because, really, like I would joke around about something as serious as hairspray injuries.

And, for the record, I know that I probably looked like an idiot walking around with Neosporin on my face, but the alternative was Neosporin covered by a Band-Aid and I felt like that would draw more attention towards my nose and we all know that, if you’re having attention drawn to you for any reason, you want it to be because of the height you have achieved with your hair.

So we go inside the church and settle in at the very front because there’s nothing more awkward than sitting at the front when you’re visiting a church for the first time. And we’re sitting there, me between Gosling and British Boy, when they begin to serve Communion which, in case you’re not familiar with it, is a time in which you should be reverent and still and quiet, three things I would have been more than happy to actually do HAD I NOT SEEN A SPIDER CRAWLING TOWARDS MY FOOT.

It was huge and it was coming right at me and I was wearing my long jeans and I just knew — I JUST KNEW — that the little beast was going to crawl right up my leg. And I knew that, if that happened, the only thing to do would be shimmy out of my jeans and, while I didn’t know what stance this particular church took on the issue of the removal of clothing during service, I felt it was safe to assume that removing my jeans wouldn’t exactly fit it with generally accepted “appropriate church behavior.”

So I decided that the only way to handle it was to kill it and therefore began wiggling around in my seat in an attempt to reach it with my foot. By this time British Boy has seen what is happening, but Gosling can’t figure out what I’m doing so he starts sending me these looks that I think were meant to encourage me to stop acting like an idiot. And I’m giving him a look back that says “MY LIFE IS IN DANGER, I HAVE TO WIGGLE” but he’s apparently not able to understand the look because he — and the rest of the church attendees in our vicinity — just continue to watch me clutch my purse to my chest and do a hopping-like motion in my folding chair until I finally get my foot close enough to the spider to end its life before it can find its way up my leg.

Maybe we’ll try a different church next weekend?