Round brushes and dicie boxers

Sleep was not easy to come by with the constant rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning. When I allowed myself to fully awaken the teens were ready, so I threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, socks and shoes, did a quick brush through my hair, then grabbed coffee and keys and we were out the door. The lightning and thunder had not relented and the rain was coming hard and constant making the air cold. I didn't much care for driving on this ominous morning, but responsibilities are not put off for inclement weather.

There is a five car pile up on the road going the other direction across from Connor's favorite elephant that is safe in the confines of the putt-putt. As we near the high school I grew even more nervous as I know there are teens with very little experience in driving on the very wet streets. I drop the oldest teen off at the front doors of the school safely and relatively dry.

The youngest teen and I find an alternative route to the middle school as the traffic has thickened considerably from the 5 car pile up. We do eventually run into a bit of traffic but thanks to the detour she arrives at school with time to spare.

I get back to the quiet and dry house, hubby and Connor still asleep in their cozy beds. I try to take a bit of time to sit quietly with a cup of coffee and read email. I barely get signed in and my in box opened when I hear knocking at the side door. I am startled at first but the urgent rapping on the door tells me it's my mother.

Swearing under my breath at the inconvenience I go to the door. As I get closer I see her outline silhouetted on the drapes, but something seems strange about it. On the left of her head there appears to be a horn. I dare a peek out of the window and realize the problem straight away. The poor thing is standing at my door step with a round brush sticking straight up in the air, relentless stuck in the hair by her left temple.


As I open the door she pleads for help. I try to restrain myself from laughing and instead ask her if she drove all the way over like that. When she looks at me I realize what a stupid question I had asked. She sits at the table and drinks some coffee as I go gather supplies that may help in freeing her head without leaving a bald spot. About this time the two layabouts have gotten up from bed to see what the noise is about. Hubby asks me to turn her head so he can run through in dice and flame decorated boxers to get to the basement laundry room. I am glad her head is turned when he comes by, she is too emotionally fragile for the look on his face when seeing her plight.

As I start to work on the problem Connor wanders over to see what is going on. He doesn't understand why she has a brush fixed so close to her head. Being one who does not like a brush to be anywhere near his head, he is terrified. Aversion to people with brushes stuck in their hair, who would have guessed.

After Connor is calmed and attention directed elsewhere I continue to work. Hubby comes back upstairs to asks the same stupid question I did. "You drove all the way over like that?"
"Well it's no different than those kids wearing picks in their afros!" she defends, arms flapping.
"Yeah it is. They can get those out when they need them. How did that happen anyway?"
"I sneezed. I was curling my hair and I sneezed." she explains.

Thankfully he doesn't go on about it any longer so I don't have her here in a blubbering mess while trying to get this brush out. She is so tender headed that every touch is meet with "eeks" and "ohhs" and hands flying in the air as if I was ripping the hair out of her skull by the handful.
"Can you just cut it out?" She is reaching her limit.
"No I can't have you going around looking weird. You just went through all the trouble of having your hair done and we are going to keep it in tack!" I wouldn't like to see her back in frizzy ponytails.

That gave me an idea and I run to the bathroom and grab a pair of nail clippers. I clip off the bristles of the brush and have her free in a matter of moments with a majority of the hair still attached to her head.

Later that night as I am recounting the story to my sister over the phone she starts to laugh. Not just a giggle but a tears in your eyes and face hurting kind of laugh. I thought it was a funny situation but hadn't thought it that hilarious. "What's got you in stitches over there?" I ask
"Well it was on her left side so she couldn't hide it from other drivers could she?"
"No I guess not." Still not clued in.
"Well imagine you are going down the road and you happen to look over and see a rusty old white 72' Chevy pickup with pink and purple pin striping, and then you see an old woman driving it with a brush sticking up out of her head! Just goes to show you can't go on a first impression can you?"