Lola In The City

I find it troubling how often I am inclined to start with a reminder of my age. I don't know if I do that for you or for me. But let's be honest. By the time you are 42 there are certain things you should know better. One of those things is how NOT to get a hairbrush stuck in your hair. Sure, there may be the occasional tangle mishap. But once you are past the age of...oh, lets say 12...those mishaps should not take 4-1/2 hours, canola oil, hair conditioner, manicure scissors and two friends to get it untangled. And it definitely shouldn't involve one of those friends standing on your couch straddling your shoulders and pulling while the other holds your scalp. And yet, that is exactly what happened to me yesterday. 

It all started with the purchase of a very small round hairbrush to use on my bangs. But being a girl and never satisfied with what I have I wondered if this very small round hairbrush would work to make my very straight hair curly. So I tested it out. The answer is no. It did, however, become very well lodged in my hair close to the scalp. So I pulled a little. Then I wiggled it a little. Then I texted my sister: 

Me: "I am 42 years old and I have a hairbrush stuck in my hair." 

Amanda: "Ummm...I don't even know how to respond other than laugh hysterically." (That's sisterly love for you.) 

Me: "No tips on how to get it out???" 

Amanda: "Ummm...conditioner? Mom wants to know how" 

Me: "I was trying to see if the new brush I got would give me some curl. The answer is no." 

Amanda: "Apparently...hahahahahahaaaahahahaha!!!!!"

Amanda (just moments later): "Heheheheheeee...snort." 

But after about 10 minutes I started to panic. I tried wetting it (which I have since learned is an absolute no-no.) I put conditioner in it. I got in the shower hoping the conditioner/water combo would do something. It did. It got it more tangled. I even looked in my "How to Fix Everything Book." Nada. So then I called my mommy. She and my sister were on-line giving me suggestion, one of which was using cooking oil, butter or lard. Out came the canola oil (I didn't want to waste my olive oil!). Still no luck. Then I started trying to snip of the ends of the bristles which was pretty scary. I really couldn't see due to the placement of the brush and the canola oil running in my eyes. Finally my mom said, "Isn't there someone you can call to come over and help you?" 

For the record I hate, HATE asking people for help. So much so that I spent 5 minutes arguing with a nurse last year that I would be just fine taking the el home after being under anesthesia for a medical procedure. I didn't want to ask someone to pick my up from the hospital. So you can just imagine how I felt about asking for help in this situation. But I broke down and called my friend Lindsey: 

Me: "What are you doing?"

Lindsey: "Watching Restaurant Impossible in my pajamas. Why?" 

Me: "Do you think you could come over and help me with something?" 

Lindsey: "Sure, what is it?"

Me: "I have had a hairbrush stuck in my hair for the last hour?" 

Lindsey: "Hahahahahahahah!!!" 

(I love that I can bring so much joy to people's lives.)

Lindsey: "I'll be right over." (My friends and family my laugh at my expense a lot but at least I know they are there for me.)

Thankfully when she showed up 10 minutes later she brought her set of keys to my apartment so I didn't have to leave. When she arrived she said, "Hahahahahahaha.... hahahahahahaha!!!! OK, let's take a look." 

So, Lindsey continued to work on it for about an hour and finally said, "I think we need another set of hands. I'm going to call Beth." That went something like this: 

"Hey, can you come over to Elizabeth's? We need some help with something." Beth was on her way, no questions asked. (See? Great friends.)

I won't bore you with all of the details for the next two hours. It involved a lot of pulling and tugging and laughing and vodka. Almost all of the bristles were cut off and Beth even managed to break off the handle making a handy little shiv should I ever need it. At one point there was also the suggestion of putting a plastic bag over it until I could get to a salon. Finally, after making substantial progress, Lindsey said, "I hate to say this but I think we are going to have to start cutting."

So, I made myself another Bloody Mary and they started carefully snipping away with a pair of manicure scissors. After about another 30 minutes we had success!!! The damage is minimal and thanks to their skills you can barely notice the short pieces. 

I have learned a few things from this ordeal: 

1. It is time to accept that I have straight hair. You would think all of the bad Toni home perms as a kid would have helped me accept that, but apparently not. 

2. If (and lets hope that is a big if) it ever happens again, do not wet my hair! 

3. If I ever have to dispose of evidence I am calling Beth because she will help with anything, no questions asked.