secador

Yesterday, after almost 7 months of living in Europe, the land of higher voltage and funny-looking plugs, I bought a blow dryer. How many freezing winter nights when the heat wasn't working (or, rather, when the landlord was waiting for the foreigners to scream) would have been made more bearable with that little machine warming up my sheets? How many times could I have slept in an extra 2 hours instead of waiting for my hair to dry before going to work? Yet I still wasn't motivated to buy one.

My main reason for caving in and buying one? I will be living with an older Portuguese woman in Faro (I'm imagining her to be named Maria, no taller than five feet, dressed all in black) for two weeks and I fear her shaking finger and looks of disdain and horror if I (gasp) go out with wet hair. I don't want to induce a heart attack. Besides, I'll be coming back in July and can still use it then. Thank you, Intermarché, for putting your blow dryers on promo for 7 euros.