Gentlemen, let me let you into a little secret… we ladies like grooming ourselves. So that thirty minutes that we spend in the bathroom isn’t just about driving you up the wall because we are already late for something, it’s generally about indulging in a small sensual guilty pleasure otherwise known as grooming.
I seem to spend vast amounts of time grooming. If not myself, my very fluffy cat Solitaire, or Dan’s dense double coat courtesy of his corgi and collie heritage, everything around here is high maintenance.
Neglecting the grooming can lead to this.
I have enough left over to make another corgi.
Not everyone is in love with grooming. Solly views it as some sort of attack on his masculinity. He often wants blood, and he’s really not all that fussed whose.
It was my mother who instilled in me the love of grooming. If you love it, you really have to have a hairbrush that is worthy of it. It is difficult to get that diffuse feeling of well-being with one of these.
My mother advocated the Mason and Pearson. I grew up with that hairbrush. They last a long time, which is a good thing considering that the price these days of a adult-sized natural bristle brush (my favourite) is roughly between £80 and £90 depending on where you get it from.
Over the last few years, I have neglected that aspect of my daily routine somewhat, cheap plastic brushes might do the detangling job, but they hardly inspire you to sit and brush. Right now, I am falling back on the lesser, yet perfectly acceptable, Denman bristle and nylon brush. After the last few years of plastic not so fantastic, picking up the bristle brush again was like balm to the soul. I swear I purred. It’s really primal, as you settle into a rhythm. It just feels good.
So chances are, if you are waiting for me with increasing impatience in the hallway, sorry, but I am having an intimate moment or two with my hairbrush.
Chill. I’ll be out in a minute.