Our cheerful home became dreadfully hushed
Each time my little sister’s hair was brushed.
Bridgett’s red hair was curly and thick.
Taming her locks was no easy trick.
Bridgett hated to have her hair brushed.
She’d scream and kick and cause such a fuss.
She’d hold her breath and turn apple red.
Buffy, her puppy, hid under the bed.
It was a terrible time for everyone,
But something that simply had to be done.
Mommy tried to make things better.
She brushed it dry and she brushed it wetter.
Daddy tried and I did too,
But none of us knew just what we should do.
Bridgett didn’t think it was fair,
And she didn’t want anyone brushing her hair.
I wish I could say that someone came home
With a magical golden detangling comb.
But it didn’t happen as simply as that.
Bridgett developed a huge, ratty mat.
That mat was snarled and tangled up tight.
We found it when she was in bed Friday night.
Bridgett was sleeping quite unaware.
We knew we should wake her, but no one would dare.
Saturday morning, trying to help,
We applied mayonnaise and smelly sea kelp.
Nothing we did helped the tiniest bit.
Bridgett sat sniveling and biting her lip.
So we took her to Pierre’s snooty salon,
And he put more smelly, goopy stuff on.
Finally he threw his hands in the air
And seemed to be on the brink of despair.
He said only one thing could salvage that mop,
And I knew in my bones he was going to chop.
I waited for Bridgett to break down and cry,
But I’ll never forget the look in her eyes.
Bridgett just swiveled around in her chair.
She seemed to have total faith in Pierre.
Pierre knew he’d found his next work of art,
But he made us all leave before he would start.
So we took our cell phone and went to the mall,
And an hour or so later, Pierre finally called.
I felt somewhat nervous, yet anxious to see.
Bridgett with short hair? How weird could that be?
One look at Bridgett and no one could speak.
She looked adorable, older, and chic.
Pierre stood proudly with hands on his hips,
And we left him a very generous tip.
Bridgett came home with new self-esteem.
Now that ratty old mat seems like just a bad dream.
We’ll laugh about this someday when she’s grown,
But for now we just leave a good thing alone.