“Hairbrush clipart, lge 13 cm long” by you get the picture 

And lo! it came to pass that the clouds parted and from the heavens descended a hairbrush of orange and black.

To the uninformed it appeared to be an ordinary hairbrush. But to the eye of the believer it was a hairbrush without equal. For it was heaven sent.

It found its earthly place on the dresser of a fifteen year old girl. For she was the chosen one. No other could the hairbrush use.

The Chosen One, Sarah, rejoiced in her hairbrush. She combed her brown tresses night and day. There was much laughter and happiness and excessively long phone calls with her friends while the tines of the hairbrush was pulled through her hair.

She kept the precious hairbrush on her dresser and bade her younger sister Kate with whom she shared the bedroom “Touch not this most precious amongst hairbrushes lest ye life be forfeit” or something along those lines.

Came the day the hairbrush went missing.

“Where’s my hairbrush!” cried Sarah in much the way a mother bear bellows when protecting her cubs. For there was outrage and murderous intent in her tone. “It was right here on my dresser and now it’s gone!”

A frantic search ensued, but, alas, the hairbrush was not found. And thus there followed a great lamenting where there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, which concerned the father given the cost of dental care those days.

The father, in his innocence, said unto his daughter “Can’t you just find another hair brush to use?”


It was but one of many sins of the father to suggest another hairbrush could take the place of the hairbrush. Such was the outrage directed at the father he made a mental note to hide away some of the sharper kitchen utensils for the next few weeks or so.

“That was my hairbrush,” the Chosen One wailed.

“Have you asked Kate about it?” the father said in his innocence.

More blasphemy. For it had been ordained that the Chosen One and no other could use the hairbrush.

“Where is she?” the chosen one said.

It came to pass that at that very moment the younger sister, Kate, entered the room. In her hand was the hairbrush.

The earth did rumble. Great fissures rent the land. Mountains fell into the sea. For the hairbrush had been defiled by the fingers of the sister, and thereby bore the mark of the sister, a loathesome and terrible thing.

“What are you doing with my hairbrush!” Sarah, the rightful user, demanded.

“Brushing my hair,” the sister said.

“That’s my hairbrush!” the Chosen One bellowed. “Why did you take it?”

“I lost mine,” said the sister.

“Give me my hairbrush!” And verily the brush was yanked from the younger sister’s hand.

An uneasy peace settled over the land.

The next morning, to the chosen one’s horror, the hairbrush was missing again.

“Kate!” she screamed.

Kate was located in the bathroom brushing her hair.

The skies darkened. The ground trembled. Rivers turned red. Locusts and frogs swarmed. Armageddon was released upon the Earth.

The father, in his innocence, entered the fray, but he was a lamb amongst wolves. He tried to end their battle, but could not. In desperation, he cried out into the firmament. His prayers were answered. The mother, an avenging angel, descended from on high. Knots were jerked in hindquarters. Names were taken. Most important, the younger sister was provided a hair brush.

Peace settled over the land, but it would not last.

For, not a week later, the younger sister had “borrowed” a sweater.