I'll be needing Rogaine sooner than later

Yup. No doubt about it. You'll find me in the Rite-Aid checkout with my box of Rogaine. And this will happen sooner than later. Confirmed. That's it. "Mom, did you wash those shorts I wore the other day?" (Uh, yeah, I think so, perhaps, it's probable, and maybe not but I'm sure not going to get up at 3:30 instead of 4:30 to wash 'em as I'm SURE you do have another pair of shorts) and with this statement I leave a clump of my highlighted hair on the back of the couch . At 6:20 in the morning, I hear a shout, "Hey, Mom, did you sign those papers for me that were in my backpack?" (Uh, yeah, maybe, I'm sure I signed something, it's possible, and what am I supposed to do? Wade through your backpack, dig under your lunchbox, and pull out every wad of paper and sign the bottom of them JUST IN CASE? What happened to presenting them to me neatly the night before it's due?) and with that fifteen of my favorite hairs fall on my newly mopped kitchen floor (yeah, right, in whose lifetime?). "Mom!" (Oh, my GOD, WHAT now?) "I told you I only like wheat bread!" (Okay, so after my twelve hour day I'll hurry home and make some specially for you because I know that the wheat flavor compliments the P and J so much better than that offered by the Wonder...save me please). Oh, yeah, if my hairs aren't standing at their ends, they are definitely falling out and slowly clogging up my shower drains (but that's another blog).