The story of my last blog is not quite over. I mentioned that my husband had taken to leaving his hair “stand on end all day” in a boyish way. I withheld from him my suspicions as to why he started doing that. I thought it was because of my determination to focus on myself and pursue writing this year. I simply don’t have time to nag anyone anymore. I stopped “reminding” him to get his conservative business cut refreshed. And guess what? He started leaving his hair stand on end. Quod erat demonstrandum.
After I published the previous blog, he said, “You know, Becky, the real reason I stopped combing my hair is… “ And I am waiting for it. This is going to be good. He is finally having a midlife crisis. He wants that mullet his mother never let him have. I’m proud of him. He has steadfastly refused to give in to the MLC, so at last here it is. “You know, Becky, the reason I wear my hair this way is that I can’t find a comb. They’ve all disappeared.”
My jaw drops. I was not expecting this. I use a comb occasionally but I prefer a hairbrush. To be honest I don’t believe him. Whenever I find a comb lying around, I officiously pop it back in the coffee mug in the medicine cabinet where we keep all our combs. I race to the bathroom and whip open the cabinet. In the mug where the “hair management” items are kept, I see disposable razors and sculpting blades. GASP. No combs. For decades there has always been a bouquet of combs in the bathroom. Classic black ACE pocket combs, hairdressing combs with the thin pointed handle, heavy combs for long hair, all sizes, colors and with or without full sets of teeth. Heaven forbid we toss a comb out. The zombie apocalypse will hit and we’ll need every sharp object in the house, out of which to fashion weapons.
Where is our comb bouquet? This is a crisis. My husband and I bandy theories back and forth. The most likely theory, to my mind, is that he used them and haphazardly dropped them where he stood. As I mentioned above, I am working hard to focus on my writing and my work more this year and to let people focus on themselves and their own hair and their own combs. They don’t need my help. But maybe, just maybe, my husband needs me to collect the combs for him. I posit my theory and he denies any wrong-doing. For one thing it's unsanitary, he scolds. And it's is unlikely he's the culprit. He is our chief scourer, the arbitrator of sponges and hand towels. When he washes the dishes, there is no grease, no spots, no streaks. I believe him!
So the game is afoot. Where are the combs? I hope you will take a journey with me to find out.
When I find a missing comb, I will post its picture here and on Facebook. This is an important sociological experiment. Who has been taking our combs and why? I will start with a thorough examination of the other denizens of our home.
Top cover photo courtesy of Lemonsodahair
SINCE THIS POST WAS PUBLISHED
Lost Comb #1 - Husband found it on his dresser. He confessed to squirreling it away when he saw they were disappearing from the bathroom. This comb we've had for over ten years. It was a hotel giveaway when my husband went to India.
Lost Comb #2 - Found on the car floor. Yuck. No one is taking credit for putting it there. So this will be one of those eternal mysteries. I have never seen my guy comb his hair in the car. I, on the other hand, have ever combed my hair in the car. Rarely. Sometimes my daughter borrows the car. But she uses a brush. Mmm somebody is trying to gaslight me, I'm sure of it. Could it be the dog?
Connecting with friends through combs
February 2017 - Thank you Cristina from Cambridge and Barb from Palo Alto for sending me your combs. It makes the job less difficult when others care about what happened to my combs. I have been traveling but now that I have returned I will continue the search for the elusive combs!
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