A Daughter's Father's Diary, entry # 89.5: The Detangler.

A Daughter's Father's Diary, entry # 89.5: The Detangler.

Men like simple missions, simple instructions, and simple requests.

Today's was set to be an easy one. All roads led to Target, in which my task was to buy detangler for my child's insane head of hair.

Without such product, the jaws of life, two brushes, and some Yiddish prayers might get the mess down to a pony tail.

Being proud of myself for even writing a shopping list for this item(we've needed it for months) and getting to the building distraction free, the isle awaited.

There is a invisible Berlin Wall between women's and men's hair/body care sections at most stores. Target is no exception, daring to make the women's brighter and more sterile then a Herpes research lab. The men's section, merely an isle away, is darker and more macho than the Eastern Bloc. A vacuum for color, and hope.

I spend five minutes staring at the wrong women's isle. Oops, this is body lotion. A goddamn wall of lotion. Just lotion. Moving along, I suddenly smell cologne that is handed out in Men's rooms at mid-level hotels at the furthest end of the Vegas strip. It's dark again. Dammit, I'm in the men's hair care section.

There are Target associates wandering about, however the male ego, stubbornness, and determination kept me from getting a ridiculously easy question answered.

An aside: There are many potential ex-wives running about any Target, anywhere. Intentionally staffed this way? I don't know. But it doesn't help my destructive, lazer-guided focus.

Stumbling upon the correct isle, I went catatonic. Time froze. Tunnel vision set in. Voices appeared from above and below. Mushrooms are not a sufficient substitute for this full blown psychosis. Over, and over, my eyes searched for the word 'detangler.' "My kid's mom buys the shit here, WHERE THE HELL IS IT" was a phrase uttered more than I'd like to admit.

In a futile effort, I crossed the border back to the men's section. No avail. On to the kid's section. No avail.

This circus played on for what seemed an eternity, so more like 6 minutes. I made calls to those in the know. I cased the joint. I gave up hope in a God of my understanding, mankind, my gender, and myself.

Ultimately, I found the kid's version somewhere in the building, and since I was in a blackout of Bukowski proportions(minus the booze, just stupor), I couldn't tell you where.

After the ordeal, I get a return call from the kid's mom. Apparently, the kid's detangler doesn't work as well as the adults.

Too bad.

Two alternate dimensions are enough for today.