Yesterday I made a trip to Sally’s to buy another hairbrush for myself. Just like the one that is supposed to be in my drawer in the bathroom but rarely is. Rather, I usually find it in the girls’ bedroom and that just annoys me.
As I took off the tag, I decided this one needed to be assigned. I grabbed a Sharpie and wrote “Mom’s” in big, bold letters on the rubber handle. As I put the Sharpie back in its hiding place, I started thinking about how I wish I could write “Mom’s” on my bath towel, which never seems to be hung each morning how I hung it the morning before. Sometimes it is even damp. Ick.
And then it snowballed. My mind started going through all the things that need “mom’s” written on them in big, bold, Sharpie letters:
- the kitchen shears
- any and all Sharpie pens
- the tape dispenser
- my brand-new, still-has-the-tag-on-it knit hat that was brought in sopping wet after the snowman melted
- my scrap booking supplies
- my deodorant (I don’t like to share, even with my husband, natch.)
- my breasts
- the Miller Chelada
- the last cookie