I’m back from book tour, with good and good news.

The good news is that my book Someone Knows sold great, so thank you for your support.

The other good news is I stretched my blow-dry for six days straight.

Astounded?

I am.

That’s a personal best.

Some people reach personal bests in running fast, lifting weights, or doing more reps.

Not me.

My personal bests are how long I can go without washing something.

Does that make it a personal worst?

I try to beat my own record, every time.

Like with my jeans, for example.

I wash them only when I have to, because then I have to dry them and they shrink up.

No girl needs a tighter waistband.

The same thing with yoga pants, but I wash those less often because I read it was bad for the environment, in that microfibers from the material somehow get into the ocean.

I’m not lazy, I’m saving the planet.

Earth, you can thank me anytime.

I also stretch how long I wash my sheets and towels because every time I wash them, my washing machine display blinks UL, which stands for uneven load, then it shuts itself off.

For that reason, I hate my washing machine.

When I see that blinking UL, can you guess what I say?

FU.

FU, UL.

And I have to lift the lid, stick my hand in the dirty water, and rearrange the sopping-wet towels in a way that the machine likes better.

If I don’t do it just right, the machine shuts off again.

I work for the machine, not the other way around.

And it’s a new washing machine, mind you. My old one never had this problem, but then again, it exploded all over the laundry room.

Anyway, I stretch my sheets as long as I can.

Which brings me to blow-dries.

A professional blow-dry is my idea of heaven.

I try to make it last as long as I can, and in the past, I’ve gone two or three days.

Stretching a blow-dry is an art form.

You have to make sure your hair doesn’t get wet; you can’t use a ponytail holder or it makes a ridge; and you have to sleep just right.

Bedhead is the enemy of the blow-dry.

I never care about these things in normal life, but when I’m trying to sell books, I care mightily. And this book tour started in Washington, D.C., and my hotel was near a mall. I had a few extra hours in the afternoon, which presented me with the choice of going to get a blow-dry or going to see the cherry blossoms.

No contest.

On tour, I’m Business Lisa.

Business Lisa doesn’t have time for flowers.

So I did the signing in D.C., blown-dry, then went to Richmond, did another blown-dry signing, then Scottsdale, Ariz., for yet another blown-dry signing, which is when I would normally have washed my hair, but it was still looking good.

Wow!

I couldn’t believe my luck.

So I decided to stretch it, like the Seinfeld episode where Cosmo is trying to see how far he can drive on a tank of gas.

By the way, don’t think I didn’t shower during tour, because I did, using the shower cap in the hotel room. I took home the rest of the scented soaps, sewing kits, and packets of makeup remover.

Not that I ever use any of these things.

But they’re free, so I take them.

That’s how classy I am.

Not at all.

The next stop was Denver, and my blow-dry was still going strong, and that was when I decided to see if I could make it through the rest of the tour on one blow-dry.

In other words, shoot the moon, hair-wise.

If you ever played Hearts, you know what shooting the moon is.

I’m a big shoot-the-mooner.

I used to shoot the moon all the time when I played with my brother and father.

I’m go-big-or-go-home, from way back.

My blow-dry made it through St. Louis, then the canceled flight to Chicago, and finally to the last tour stop, which was Traverse City, Mich.

I did it!

I made it all the way home on one blow-dry.

I shot the hair moon.

Which is when I realized my secret.

I’m getting old.

Everything on me is dried up, including my hair.

But at least I’m not dead.

So I win!

Look for Lisa and Francesca’s humor collection “I See Life Through Rosé-Colored Glasses” and Lisa’s best-selling thriller “Someone Knows” in stores now. lisa@scottoline.com.