Donkeys, Hair, and a Hilarious Excuse: My Boss Almost Believed It!
Most people are late to work because of traffic, a flat tire, or maybe hitting snooze one too many times. Me? I was late because of donkeys—and somehow, that excuse almost worked.
It started as an ordinary morning on the farm. The alarm went off, the rooster screamed his head off, and I stumbled outside with coffee in hand. That’s when I spotted the donkeys. Not peacefully munching hay like good little barnyard angels—oh no. They had found their way into the grooming supplies. Apparently, at some point during the night, Henry (the ringleader of chaos) learned how to unlatch the tack room door.
When I walked in, I found two donkeys standing proudly in the middle of a crime scene. Hairbrushes, detangler spray, and half a bottle of mousse were scattered across the floor. Henry was literally chewing on a comb like it was a carrot. His partner-in-crime, Millie, had a mane teased so high she looked like she was auditioning for an ‘80s rock band.
Panic set in. Not only were my donkeys wreaking havoc, but I had exactly twenty minutes to get myself presentable for work. Except, of course, Henry wasn’t done. As I tried to chase him out, he leaned in and rubbed his entire head—now sticky with hair mousse—across my freshly washed hair. I went from “workplace ready” to “barnyard chic” in half a second.
That’s when the lightbulb went off. If I couldn’t fix this disaster, maybe I could spin it into an excuse. So I grabbed my phone, dialed my boss, and with as much sincerity as I could muster, I said:
“Listen, I’m running late. The donkeys got into my hair products, and one of them styled my hair with mousse. I need ten minutes to, uh, recover.”
Silence. Then a cough. Then my boss said, “Are you… serious?”
I assured her I was. I explained the mousse, the comb chewing, the impromptu donkey hair salon. I even offered to send photographic evidence (though I wisely left out the part where I briefly considered rocking the donkey-inspired hairstyle to the office).
To my shock, she laughed. Not just a polite chuckle—full-on, wheeze-into-the-phone laughter. “That’s a new one,” she said. “Traffic, weather, car trouble—I’ve heard those. Donkey hair sabotage? Never.”
And then, the miracle: she gave me the green light. “Take your time. Honestly, if you show up with donkey mousse in your hair, nobody will hear a word of your presentation anyway.”
When I finally made it in, hair brushed, shirt only slightly hay-stained, my boss smirked and whispered, “So where’s the donkey stylist? Do they take walk-ins?” The office roared with laughter, and just like that, my chaotic morning became the highlight of the day.
The moral of the story? Sometimes honesty really is the best policy—especially when it involves donkeys, hair products, and a boss with a sense of humor.
