When I was little, I absolutely detested (and rarely) brushed my hair. It was so painful. Like stabbing porcupines into your skull. (I had the fine-toothed combs.) I was (and am) one to favor comfort over fanciness, so I never brushed my hair. Maybe once a month if it was a lucky one.
I didn’t like it when my mother brushed my hair for me because it always hurt more so than if I were to brush my own hair. Therefore, when I was forced by my mother to brush my hair, I would pick the lesser of the two evils and brush my own hair.
But I never did it well enough. I never really tried. So it always looked the same before and after I brushed it and my mother would insist that she do it again herself.
I never did well enough because “brushing hair well=pain,” so I shirked my brushing duties and usually only brushed the top layer of my hair.
So I thought of a new idea to get rid of the accursed knots in my hair.
I would brush my hair myself, and whenever I came across a knot, I cut it out.
Eventually, I did learn to like brushing my hair.
In fact, I loved it.
This sudden change in attitude to hair-brushing was due to a very special brush. It came in a craft kit and it was a little compact brush that you could put sequins on. AND THIS BRUSH DIDN’T HURT!
I was mystified. I was entranced. I was lost in the magical depths of this hairbrush.
I would spend all my waking hours brushing my hair until it was really soft and shiny and people commented, “How lovely. I wish I could have hair as lustrous as yours. What shampoo are you using?”. (I didn’t use shampoo that often.)
But this time of ignorant bliss was coming to a close.
We went on vacation.
I was in the bathroom, brushing my hair when the brush flew out of my hand and fell into the toilet.