On the subject of dry bars.

I used to wash my hair every single day. I also used to wear sassy, coordinated, and well thought-out outfits. 

I now wash my hair every two three days {if I'm lucky or have someplace other than the carpool line to go} and live in my monogrammed fleece tunic with handy side pockets. Perfect for carrying puffs and/or ninja turtles. 

So the concept of a dry bar is absolutely fascinating to me. You go there. They wash and dry and style your hair. For you. While you sit there. And read a magazine. Or stare at the wall. So why did the lady look at me so crazy when I asked if I could get a weekly pass? JK. You know I haven't gotten to check one out. Yet. 

You know what concept I adore even more than a fabulous hairdresser blowing out your hair? A Kroger or Publix employee who would sashay up to my driver side window and let me ask {beg} them to run to the far back side of the store and snag me a gallon of milk {whole, not skim- we got growing brains in this grocery-getter mommy mobile Holmes} and a box of mini muffins so I would not have to do the car seat shuffle with two babies. In the rain. And the cold. 

Would that not be a dream? If that happened, I would probably be able to go back to washing my hair. And wearing well thought out, coordinated outfits.