Hair 1, Comb 0
An Open Letter to my late Comb.
I’m sorry you had to go like that. Twas a demise that was unexpected, and I am still shocked that you’re gone. Yes, I know I was wrong to wash my hair the day before I decided to braid it but who’da knew it was going to be so tangled as to trap you in. However, I had faith in you since you were not a little flimsy piece of plastic. But when my sis was combing my hair, and I heard a loud “SNAP”, and she showed me you were broken in half, I cackled loudly. For this too, I am sorry. I just couldn’t help myself. Especially after sissy exclaimed “Ooooo I oughta pop you in the head for this. You owe me a new one!”. I apologize for laughing even harder. However, I will say that I am glad you went down fighting. You weren’t no punk, and for that I got mad respect. You stood no chance against my awesomely tangled fro, but you never backed down. There was no bitchassness in your game. So Kudos.
I already called Austin & Royster’s. We shall be having a nice service and repass for it. This rattail comb is survived by:
- Its BFF, a weeping pick (the fist is now a palm)
- A boar hair brush
- A smaller comb that is now whimpering at the sight of my hair
- A red satin scarf
- An old bottle of StaySofFro
- The entire Carol’s Daughter Hair line
Edit: My girl 8th Wonder said my comb was not tougher than Nigerian hair. Touche! lol