As any woman with hair will tell you, the crown is the most defining element of every hair style. Bangs, curls, side or center part, and, if you’re a trendy chick, half shaved / half curled. I don’t recommend that look for anyone over fifteen but it's your hair.
One fine morning, about a month ago, I took a little looky-loo in the mirror and thought my crown needed a little work, some smoothing out.
“Why don’t you dampen the area, twirl your little black brush through your locks just over your eyes there and leave it to dry while you put on your makeup?” Said the Devil.
“Excellent idea,” replied the foolish, foolish woman as she grabbed her brush.
Twenty minutes later, with both eyes lined, lashes swiped, and eyebrows adjusted, I grabbed the handle of the brush to begin the un-twirl.
Hmmm. A bit of resistance there. Did the foolish woman twist the brush a little too tightly? More tugging. More resistance. Ten minutes of this and I was beginning to sweat slightly from the effort.
Using two hands now and facing the bathroom mirror I tried to calm the building fury by telling myself small comforting things.
Take a photo and post it on Facebook. Give all your friends their laugh for the day.
Call Britain, ask for the royal hat maker and convince him that a dangling hairbrush sort of falling forward from a red velvet beret could well be the next thing every savvy female subject in the land will want for the upcoming royal wedding. I’ll send him the Facebook photo so he’ll have a clear vision of what I mean. I’d even work with him. We have until May.
Stay in the bathroom and have my meals brought up until the hair grows out and I can cut the Devil’s hairbrush away. Three months tops.
Soon I was near tears and calling myself un-Christian names.
Then brilliance struck. I remembered when we had a Springer Spaniel we’d have to cut knots out of her coat. I’d read that sprinkling corn starch on the matted knot will make the hair slippery and easy to untangle. So, guess what I did? Yup. I flew down to the pantry and grabbed a box.
Five minutes later the devil brush was coated with corn starch, my hair looked like I’d developed an epic case of dandruff and the bathroom sink and floor seemed to have come through a snow storm. And there was no further progress in the de-tangle. Gaaaah! Full panic now.
I began blubbering. I cried out to God. I told myself to be calm and reasonable. Others have twirled and twisted their hair in brushes and they didn’t melt into a puddle on the floor. Well, except for that one woman in New Hampshire who now sells small “wigs for fools”. She got over it, moved on and actually monetized her puddle.
At the end, about an hour later, I did calm down. I went to work in earnest and pulled individual strands of hair slowly through the evil bristles working gently towards the middle of the tangle. When I had about half of the hair out I lost patience and got the scissors. Yes I did. I pulled that hairbrush out as far as I could and began snipping close to the bristles, cackling as I stuck it to the devil.
This has been about a month now and I’m still dealing with the little patch of short hairs in my “crown” just over my eyes. But you know what? I beat the Devil. With my fist in the air and a glorious roar I conquered a nightmare hair event and went on to tell about it. I expect women sympathizers to rise up from across the globe to pat me on the back and call for advise - which I may monetize.
How are your plans for 2018 shaping up? Need a wig?
Image: On sale now at Satan’s Stylin’ Salon