I don’t want to brag, but I have figured out the secret to life. I know how to keep it all together, now. It’s not therapy, it’s not going to the gym, it’s not maintaining a healthy relationship or any of that nonsense— it’s dry shampoo. I know, I know, it’s so obvious, right?
When my building had to turn off the water for a few hours, I panicked and considered washing my hair with some lime La Croix. As I was about to pour the sparkling beverage onto my oily mane over the kitchen sink, it hit me: “Don’t you have some dry shampoo in your bathroom cabinet?”
I found the aerosol can and sprayed my tresses, slowly melting away all the grease and anxiety I felt. It smelled of coconut and hope. “How did you get those beachy waves?” people ask me. From a gosh darn can!
If I were to add up those shower hours I’ve wasted in my lifetime, it would probably be approximately 17 years of wasted time.
I had a real scare recently, where I had a Zoom meeting in two minutes and I went to get the dry shampoo, or Isabelle as I now call her. As I was saying my mantra, “there’s nothing a spritz can’t fix,” Isabelle did something she had never done before, which was sputter and spray regular air onto my scalp. I started running around in what my roommate described as an “unsettling event,” but what does she know anyway?! She fortunately had a small travel-size bottle of dry shampoo and she saved the day/my life!
My roommate thinks maybe the dry shampoo isn’t what I really need, but rather yoga or meditation or “definitely therapy.” Mind your own business, Rebecca! She’s washing and blow drying her hair everyday like a fool. Doesn’t she know she could be using that time to build an empire like me? “Who is Isabelle and why do I hear you talking to her?” I don’t need to explain myself to you, Rebecca! I don’t even need friends, because I have Isabelle.
Come to think of it, I don’t need a job. It doesn’t bring me the magic I can get from a can. “I don’t think quitting your job is a good idea.” Whatever, Rebecca! You just don’t get it! “Your mom texted me and she is wondering why you aren’t calling her back.” Jeez, Rebecca! I don’t need my family either, just the sweet relief of a waterless shower! I don’t even need you to read this. I could have used this time to build my dream life brick by brick all while smelling like hibiscus and confidence.
I have been can-pilled, and my eyes are open. “Traditional hygiene” is just a construct that Big Wet Shampoo wants us to buy into to keep us from reaching our full potential.
