One Huge Pile of Brushes

In response to our increasingly dishevelled appearances, Mum booked us all hair cut for today. So, at a quarter to the hour, Charlotte and I set out for our appointment. On arriving at the salon, we found that the two hairdressers were still occupied. And so we settled down on the sofa to wait.

While we were sitting there, a little girl dressed sweetly all in pink toddled into view. She stumped across the room, totally absorbed in her own business, until her eyes fell on Charlotte, sitting on the end of the settee. The girl's eye's lit up. Here could be a new friend!

She ran over to the trolley where the hairdresser kept her equipment. Very soon she returned and held out to Charlotte...a hair brush.

Charlotte glanced over to me, bewilderment in her eyes. Then she gently took the brush and laid it down next her. The little girl smiled shyly and then ran back to her mother, who was at that moment having her hair cut. The next minute she was back. And in her hand she held...another brush.

As soon that one was sitting next to Charlotte, the girl was running back to fetch another...and another...and another. Soon the pile of brushes was towering. Both Charlotte and I looked anxiously at the trolley. Surely there couldn't be many more hair brushes to come. And yet, by the time Charlotte went to have her hair cut, she was still fetching more.

Finally, when more brushes than I had ever seen in my life before were sitting all over the sofa, she suddenly ran out. I looked at the pile. There must have been about thirty of them, in all shapes and sizes. There were huge round ones, tiny thin ones, large flat ones, and every other size and shape imaginable.

Well, I thought. At least she's run out. Now maybe she'll stop fetching things.
But I was wrong. Now that the trolley was completely empty of all its contents, the little girl next turned her attentions to the display stand, which contained, among all the cans of hairspray and other products, two plastic wrapped...hair brushes.

I groaned inwardly as, with the air of one conferring a huge favour, this little girl solemnly handed them to me. Quickly I returned them to the shelf. But then, growing tired of brushes, she turned her attentions to the hair products. When she brought me a can of hairspray, I knew it was time to put an end to this.

Her mother had been trying to stop her the whole time. But, being confined to the chair while the hairdresser cut and dried her hair, the little girl had done pretty much whatever she liked. Now I tried to get her interested in,no fetching hairbrushes, but putting them back.

She caught onto the idea at once. In a short space of time, all those many brushes were packed away neatly in their drawers and the drawers returned to their proper places on the trolley. For the rest of our visit either one of us girls tried to keep her out of mischief as her mother had her hair finished.

I watched the little girl as she toddled away out the door, a sticky lollipop clutched in her chubby hand. She'd certainly made our visit to the hair salon exciting. And she'd certainly shown me just how many brushes a hairdresser needs. I don't think I'll ever forget the sight of thirty or so brushes all stacked on a sofa, nor forget the cute little girl who brought them to us.