True story–don’t try this at home.
As a child, I hated the hot comb. It felt like punishment when I didn’t even do anything wrong. Also, I hated all forms of grooming and hygiene–a waste of time, I thought, with which I could be playing and getting dirty again.
Anyways! One fine afternoon my mom informed me she would be pressing my hair with the hot comb. You would think I’d been told to take a bath. Oh, the sulking. Oh, the whining noises! When that had no effect on her resolve, I had to take matters into my own hands.
I came up with the brilliant idea to do it myself! It would be super-quick and painless because I’d be using a wide tooth metal pick instead of that horrible instrument of torture built like a cast iron skillet. And I wouldn’t go so close to my skin or burn my ears. Of course my hair wouldn’t be the least bit detangled but that’s my grown self interjecting into this story.
Now, I just needed a safe heat source, and by safe, I meant covert, because if I got caught fooling around with the open flames of our stove, the tongue-lashing I’d get from my mother would straighten my hairs all on its own.
So the space heater it was. Yes. I stuck a metal hair pick through the grill of an electric space heater to avoid the hot comb. Apparently, electrocution was a less scary prospect.
Anyways! I did that a couple of times (who knows if I even finished my whole head?) and skipped off to tell my mom not to worry about firing up the old gas stove because I had successfully “straightened” my own hair. With a wide tooth pick. And a space heater.
I’m not sure what in my few years of existence led me to believe my mom would be anything but horrified at that. She was, suffice to say, unimpressed by my ingenuity. And I still had to get my hair pressed.
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