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The Hair-esy Of It All!

Ouch! Sit still Girl! But it hurts! OUCH! I don’t have time for this foolishness! Keep up that crying and I’m going to cut it all off!.....were the words I heard as the comb ripped with one hand and the scissors flailed in the other.

Hair was always an interesting, yet unspoken topic in my house when growing up. After all, I was the one with the kinky, dry, unmanageable follicles of beauty. While my sisters enjoyed the serenity of long, soft, curls and waves of blonde and brunette naturally colored hair.

For the first 6 years of my childhood you could always pick me out of the crowd with my puff of a pony tail all brushed to the top of my head like a crown of shame. Always brushed, never combed. Like the delicate beauty in the outer shell expressed by an egg, my pony puff was simply precious.

Course like that same egg, you’ll never experience its rotten core until the shell is disturbed. As such my pony puff over the years of brushing it in an upward relentless motion intricately formed a spoiled center of knotted,