And I Get Extra Points for Knowing the Anarchy Symbol

Question: What do you do when your eight-year-old daughter desperately needs you to write COOL, RAD, WICKED, and HOT in red paint on her black pants for Carnaval?

And you've just thrown out the half-empty pot of red paint and packed all the brushes? Because, hey, when's the last time somebody used those? And we're moving.

And you don't have red nail polish, because you're not that kind of girl? (No lipstick either.)

Answer: You use red hair dye. You know, the little squishy tubes for Halloween pizzazz. (Because that's in the hall, and you haven't packed the hall yet. Procrastination has its benefits.)

Only, even after it dries, it rubs off onto your fingers. (Where, paradoxically enough, it steadfastly remains, despite lots of water and soap and scrubbing. We should have gone straight for her legs.)

So you grab the hairspray (which you DO have, because you had that $%!@# fancy wedding back in September, and which is NOT packed, because your ten-year-old son wants to tease his hair into a furball for his Carnaval costume). A nice thick layer of that stuff, and Punkerbaby Eight's good to go. 

Go ahead, say it: Kisa, baby, you so creative. You so smart. You so resourceful.