The process of hair brushing is a necessary evil. Just ask my girls. The torture that results in a untangled hairdo is a thing my girls dread.

They wince. They whine. The squint their eyeballs. They lean forward to try to escape the brushing implement. If they are lucky, a mirror is in front of them, so they can take their face making skills to the next level. It is a treasured time of bonding. And crying.

When the horrendous event comes to it’s beautifully coifed end… the girls will get up and run to the mirror. Where they admire themselves. They demurely batt their eyelashes. Coyly turn and look over their shoulder. They flash a super star smile at their reflection and discover what I sometimes tell them is true. “Beauty is pain.” (That’s a joke.)

The real pain is the hair balls that follow. All tangled up in my brushes. Eww.

Which brings me to my point. (I knew I had one all along.)

I got a new hair brush… check it out…..

Can you see the hair ball waiting to be freed from it’s bristley prison? No? Well, trust me… it’s there. Lurking beneath the black bristles. But, wait… look at that red button…. wonder what it’s for?

Like magic all the bristles disappear into the barrel. Leaving only the abandoned folicles behind.

Now comes the skin crawling duty of removing aforementioned hair.

It’s a dirty job. But someone’s got to do it.

And look!!! It’s like a brand new brush!!

On a side note: how bored am I this morning? I have a ton of house work I could be doin. But noooo! Letting the interweb know about this miracle grooming utensil was at the top of my priority list today. I am a complex lady.

On another unrelated sidenote: Check out my freckled fingers. What’s up with that?