The comb is led towards the hair; its teeth, that had previously seemed so non-threatening, now seemed to give the comb a predatory air, that promised of tugging and pain and general discomfort. My skin started to creep with anxiety and fear, and my throat started to close up tightly in fear. I couldn't help myself. I winced in anticipation of the incoming pain....
That's not a memory from when I was a kid. That was me on a quiet Sunday evening a few weeks ago. I have to admit, it was all my fault really.
Mum: Do you ever comb your hair?
Me: Yes ma, of course I do.. I comb [de-tangle] at least once a week. (Sanctimoniously) In fact, I'm about to do it now.
Mum: Oooh! Let me do it!
Mum: *bemused* You never let me touch that head of yours, you know. What's so special about it?
Me: (Guiltily) Nothing. Er. I mean. Okay. Let's do this.
Hoisted by my own petard.
I'm not a fan of styling my hair when it's wet, but I don't mind it damp or dry. But dry would've been a nightmare. So I mixed up a herb based detangling brew and poured it into a spray bottle. I also got my trusty wide tooth shower comb.
|Boots Shower Comb - only the finest!|
I plonked myself on the chair, separated my hair into 7 rough sections and liberally spritzed the spray onto the first three areas we'd be working with. When I flinched, my mum gently poked me in my forehead.
Mum: I'm your mother. I'm not going to intentionally hurt you.
I appreciate the fact she kept her promise.
The detangling brew made things so much easier since it gave quite a bit of slip (and made my hair sooo darn soft. But that's another post for another day), and my mum started from the ends and worked her way down to the roots. I helped out, finger detangling the next section she would be working on and twisting the sections she had just finished.
But my mum was not content with simply detangling. She'd been having a lot of fun playing in my hair ("Oooh, it's so soft!") and wanted to see it through to the end.
Which meant styling. And new tools to use.
|*Jaws theme tune*|
Luckily, about an hour earlier, I'd left out a couple of my flaxseed gel ice cubes to defrost, so that was my styler sorted. For the tools, my mum got to pick. Her hair tools of choice [from the limited selections I offered her - I hid my Denman] included a soft bristle brush, as well as the fine tooth comb for the parting.
Re the soft bristle brush: I'm not a fan of brushing, but the way my edges curl up annoys the heck out of my mum. When I used to be on forums a lot more, I remember posting a thread topic asking if anyone could help me deal with my thick edges.
I. Got. Crickets.
Apparently, thick edges is not seen as a serious problem. Thus I let them be and then, ultimately, forgot about them.
But my mum could not forget and took great joy in being about to brush and smooth them out.
I don't know where we actually got the brush from, but I think it is actually a body brush.
When she had finished, she declared her handiwork 'beautiful!'.
To her credit, I can honestly say my mum put more work into my hair styling in that half an hour than I do in a week.
|That's not a hair accessory.|
That's my wonky lampshade.
|Oooh, flaxseed gel, how it glistens.|
It was...all sleek and had reduced volume and whatnot. I was bemused by how much my mum loved the way it (now) looked.
I learned that my mum can be trusted with my hair and my mum learned about the versatility of natural hair. Brilliant, right?
Mum: You know, I saw this girl, and she has natural hair and she straightens, no, she said she "presses" it, and it was so straight it looked relaxed! Maybe you could try it...just for special events, not every day.
Me: *firmly pretends not to hear*