I had just returned home from work and was about to change into sweatpants (cause it's Friday night!). I heard my text notification in another room and started to run to check my phone as it was probably Gregg Rainwater circa 1989 texting to ask me to the movies. (Obviously if that were the case, I would need to change into hot pants* instead of sweatpants. I'm not the kind of girl who wastes pant changes.)
On my way, I neared my hair dryer. It fell from whence it lay and brushed my dresser in such a manner to power it on. Time stopped for a moment. I saw myself being burned to death by the dryer. It would be ever so slow and painful. My hair would frizz.
The dryer hit the floor and bounced onto my leg. Being average smart and sorta average quick, I was able to thwart Death's plan. I bravely stooped and turned the dryer off. Of course this means he is coming after one of you now. My bad.
*I'm typing of pants that are hot, not hotpants. I'm not a savage. No offense, Gregg.
P.S. Turns out the text was about Veronica Mars. Nearly as important as vintage Gregg Rainwater.
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