A Hairy Affair

Today I bought a brush. A brush? You may ask, full of doubt of how the purchase of a hairbrush could possibly be fodder for a blog post.

I have needed a new hairbrush now for a long while, but every time I go shopping, I inevitably forget to buy one. I forget about it until the next morning after showering when I actually pull my old, ratty one out of the drawer to comb my hair. Unlike other people I know, I don’t normally carry a comb/brush with me and I very rarely comb my hair more than once a day. You see, I am totally inept at the art of hair dressing in any shape or form. I wear a ponytail, a bun, or a French braid. That’s it! I wash my hair, dry it half-way (because it would take hours to do it all the way), and put it up. No styling, no nothing.

woman-morning-bathrobe-bathroom

I know some women at work that religiously take out their brushes and make up kit to retouch their look a couple times a day. Hell, one of them even had a straightening iron and nail polish in her desk drawer. Yesterday I watched a friend of my son, who is in her twenties, take a whole hour to style her hair using a flat iron. I was in awe because I would sooner poke my eyes out than take that much time on my hair any day.

pink-hair-selfie-bun

The older I get, the more I begrudge the time spent in front of a mirror. When I was younger I wore very little make-up, but now I feel the need to wear foundation. If I don’t—with the tone of my complexion and acne scars—I run the very real risk of having people confuse me with a ghost, or worse, a zombie. I absolutely rue the ten minutes or so I have to spend every morning applying moisturizer, foundation, concealer, shade, eyeliner, mascara, blush and a touch of lip color. It just seems like such a waste of my time. I would much rather be reading or writing. But alas! One must not scare the crowds.

fashion-girl-makeup-paint

My hair, on the other hand, was always generously thick and abundant. Now it’s lightish brown but, for most of my life, it was multi-colored; very light brown with shades of gold and red. My mom’s favorite childhood story is the one about how people would stop her at the market when I was still a toddler, and ask her why she decided to dye such a young child’s hair? (check out this picture of me when I was about three or four.I was kind of cute, wasn’t I?)

BabyPicOne

I always had a love-hate relationship with my hair. I have worn it super long, long, bobbed and boy-short. As a teenager I still bothered doing “hair treatments” to bring out my natural highlights. I spent some considerable amount of time dry-brushing my normally out-of-control mane (check out my disco-phase picture when I was about 18-years old and had some serious strawberry blond hair).

New Doc 2_1

Not anymore. Once in a blue moon I decide that I’m tired of my non-look and I go to a nice hair stylist who charges me triple what I normally pay at Hair Cuttery to have a “good” haircut; you know, the kind you can actually wear down and makes you look like a superstar. Five minutes after I leave such places, my hair goes up into a ponytail because I can’t stand my hair flying all over my face.

person-woman-girl-blonde

But I digress…the point is I always forget to buy a new brush because it does not have that big of a role in my life as it has in other people’s lives (including my three guys). So remembering to buy a brush was kind of momentous for me today and I thought it deserved a special blog post. It’s a cool one with a zebra design that slides through my thick, always-entangled hair as if cutting through butter. What can I say? Little things make me happy.

 

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