The Complicated Grooming Regimen of Sgt. Lucky

Today I remembered something I hadn’t thought of in a long time, and because it’s a lazy Sunday and I don’t want to do any real work, I’ll tell you about it.

Shortly after Sgt. Lucky and I moved in together, we were discussing our beauty regimens. Well, OK, my beauty regimen. I think this was inspired by the stupefying number of lotions and potions on the lip of the sink. I was trying to explain to Sarge why I need so many, and getting a lot of dubious head shakes as a response.

“There are many types of moisturizer,” I explained. “Some are for daytime, and have SPF. Some are for nighttime, and are too greasy to wear with makeup. Others zap wrinkles or zits or dark circles. All are totally and completely necessary, and need to be on the sink in the exact spot where you’d like to keep your razor.”

“Oh, obviously,” he said. “Anyone can see that.”

“And I don’t know what you’re complaining about anyway,” I said. “You use that scrub every day.”

Sgt. Lucky frowned at me, the way you do at someone who is speaking a foreign language that you know a little of, but maybe not that much. A subjunctive, advanced vocabulary word frown. “Scrub?” he repeated.

“Yeah, you know. The scrub. I always find it in the sink when I wake up.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s there right now, probably. Come on, we’ll look at it.” A minute later, over the sink: “See? Those little grainy things.”

Sgt. Lucky laughed. Then ran his finger around the sink. Then laughed. Then wiped his eyes.

“What?” I demanded. “See? It’s right there.”

“That’s my HAIR,” he said. “From when I shave in the morning. It’s not grit at all. It’s my HAIR.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, that explains why I couldn’t find your scrub.”

“I still don’t know what that is.”

“It’s the gritty stuff I use in the shower. It takes off dead skin.”


“I’m sorry. Can I direct you to your HAIR in the SINK?”

“I pulled enough long red hair out of the shower the other day to make another of you in a lab,” he said. As if he’d been considering it.

“That one wouldn’t be any better behaved. It’s in the DNA.”

He sighed. “No, I guess not.”

That was over a year ago. He does wipe out the sink now. And I pull my hair out of the drain. We’re growing! We’re changing! We’re the most considerate people we know. At least when it comes to hair.

Published by Jen Hubley Luckwaldt

I'm a freelance writer and editor.

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