For those who have been patiently following my ongoing rant about my accidental dread(lock), I have breaking news:
IT IS NO MORE.
Thanks to the ever-so-patient ministrations of my 'Angel-From-Oz' (a bestest friend who has come to visit us with her two little ones for a two-week Bali holiday), I have at last been freed from the tryranical clump of beastly knotted hair which tormented me on a daily basis.
I suppose a shout out of thanks should go out also to Kadek the Pembantu, who yesterday forewent her usual litre of extra virgin olive oil when making her afternoon popcorn snack, thus allowing me to soak my dreaded dread in it instead.
Thirty minutes, a cheap comb, and several grimaces later, not withstanding a huge sacrificial rats nest of a hairball later, my friend said 'Ta Da!' and I reached back...tentatively and felt...nothing. Hurrah!
Now I'm not about to suggest that I'm suddenly a Pantene Princess, posing under a waterfall in a too small bikini, tossing my chocolate locks to and fro...
Far from it.
But I WILL say that today, for the first time in many months, I was actually able to brush my hair. How novel.
Thus I solemnly swear to never again NEGLECT my hairbrush to such an extent that I accidentally join another social tribe (see: 'Backpacker Scumbag'...subcategory D7).
Additionally, I promise never again to clog cyberspace with uncontrollable rantings of an aesthetic nature...subjecting my loyal and ever-so-lovely readers to such an indulgent and boring thread (it's like dreams: if it's not yours, then who the heck cares).
I am a new woman now. With a strict bedtime ritual of not less than fifty strokes on the Mason Pearson.