I love to brush my hair. I have two brushes that I use exclusively. Don't tell anyone - I also have a pick in my purse.
One brush is made out of natural horsehair. My hair slips through it and never untangles. Not without a lot of wrist work. It glides over the hair and makes it look nice and smooth, but underneath lie horrific tangles. It doesn't matter much to me - I still use it. It's the one I wield when I am fantasizing that I am Greta Garbo or Loretta Young. I pull it over the hair and begin to count. 1, 2, 3, all the up to one hundred. I bend over and swipe the brush through the back of my hair. I remember when I was young and my hair, Rapunzel-style, almost touched the ground. It feels so luxurious, so smooth, so soft, so - sexy. My arm aches by the time I am done.
On the other hand, I have one of those plastic beady-ends brush. I love this one. It drags along my scalp and tingles down to my toes. I know it is destroying ends while untangling the strands. It feels like I am at the spa receiving a much-needed and well-deserved head massage. Oh - to have one of those again. I can't seem to find a masseuse who delivers such pure joy. Someday, perhaps. I do not do the one-hundred count routine using this brush. This brush works sensually through my scalp and brings great joy and peace.
The pick is next to useless. When I get to my destination, I pull it out, give my hair a quick whack, and put the gimmick back in my purse. 'Nough said.
PS - please offer up a quick prayer for 'Jake' - a really wonderful, very old Beagle/Pincer mix. We think it is time for him to go to doggy Heaven, but we really don't want him to. We will miss his howling and his snuggling and his snoring. Jake is the black sweetie in the background. Malley hogs the pictures.