Bad Hair & Black Gunk

Could my morning get any worse?
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It was not the best morning I've ever had.

It started with me frantically shoving apart the clothes hanging in my closet, looking for something to wear to church. Nothing!

I yelled downstairs, "Mom, where's my red dress? You know, the new one!"

"In your closet, dear."

"No, it's not! I looked a million times! Is it at the dry cleaners?"

"Oh, yes. I forgot. Wear something else."

I flew back into my room and continued my search. Out of desperation, I tried on the dress with the lace trim Aunt Myrtle gave me for my birthday. I took a look in the mirror. I looked like a 4-year-old dressed by her mother. "Forget this,"

I said to myself. I got out of that awful dress and tossed it on the floor.

HONK! Dad was leaning on the car horn, getting impatient. I threw on a pair of khakis and a sweater and dashed downstairs. As I hurried out to the car, I took one last glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. Something's wrong. I have no eyelashes. I'd forgotten my make-up. I grabbed my mascara and a small mirror and headed for the car.

As I jumped into the car, my 12-year-old brother demanded, "What took you so long?"

"Don't ask!" I snapped.

Dad pulled onto the street and I started putting on my mascara. Suddenly, we hit a bump, which caused my mascara wand to go into my eye, which then began to water, sending streams of black gunk down my cheek. "Great," I said under my breath.

I tried to clean off the ugly smudges, first with my hand, then with a tissue, but that only made them worse.

My brother laughed, "Nice face!"

We pulled into the church parking lot. I got out of the car and rushed into the church with my hands covering my face.

I headed straight for the bathroom, praying I wouldn't walk into anyone.

It took me a few minutes to get the streaks of mascara off my face. But once my face was clean, I couldn't help but notice that I was having an exceptionally bad hair day. "That's perfect," I muttered sarcastically. My attempts to fix it only made matters worse, so I gave up and hurried out the door.

Naturally, I bumped right into—and I mean literally bumped into!--Adam Smith, the guy I'd had a major crush on since I was 10.

"I'm so sorry," said Adam.

"Uh … no, no. It's my fault!"

I answered. Great, Jamie, I thought. You're making such a good impression.

As we stood there, I couldn't help but think of "Beauty and the Beast," only this time the "Beauty" was the guy. I was sure Adam could see my hands trembling as I struggled for something clever to say. After what seemed an eternity, I told him I needed to find a seat and walked away.

Considering the morning I'd had, I was in no mood for company. So I grabbed a spot in the back row, away from my family. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Adam. Go away! I thought, but he sat down next to me anyway. OK, as long as I don't have to say anything, I think I'll be alright. So, of course, he said, "Did you have a good week?"

"Um, yeah," I answered. Thankfully, the service started and I didn't have to elaborate. By the time the pastor got to the sermon, my mind had begun to wander. I was thinking about my horrible morning and worrying about what Adam was thinking. For a moment, my mind tuned back in to the pastor. He was reading from Matthew 6.

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