What takes too long?

My head is bent forward, feet shoulder width apart, knees bent, and back folded over at the hips. My hair falls past my face. I can't see anything except the tile floor beneath my feet. My toes are white at the tips, the pressure from most my weight making them ache.
The air from the hair dryer blows my brown strands into a mini tornado. The heat warms my scalp. I rub at it to cool the skin.
"Mom? Mom? Mom? Momma? Mommmmmmmm....?" My son's voice rises above the whirl next to my ear.
"Yes?"
He comes up with a toy and tries to shout something to me.
"I'll play in a minute." I reassure him.
But he's not reassured. He stands by my side, trying to get my attention with more words. When that fails, he resorts to grabbing my hand. The hair dryer turns, giving him a windy blast.
He giggles as the air hits him in the face. The smile that's brightened his face shows he's just realized this could be even more fun than playing with his cars. What have I done? A second later, he pushes into the canopy of my hair. 
"Mine. Mine!" He grabs for the dryer again, but this time with the intent to capture it.
I stand up to give him a blast of warm air, careful not to get too close to burn him. He laughs and tucks his chin to his chest. By the time I switch the dryer off, his cheeks glow a soft pink.
"Ready, play?" He asks, his eyes luring me in with the innocent plea they hold.
I want to say yes, but only have fifteen minutes to straighten my hair, which usually takes at least twenty. On days like this, I curse my thick mane. We can't be late to church. Again.