I bid farewell to my Hot Tools one-inch curling iron, "Harry".
May he rest.
Yes, he was nine-years-old. And I didn't want to let him go. But after a while, there was no denying that he was quite literally falling apart. His handle broken, the plastic peeling off, the temperature gauge broken, his cord so tangled it was nearly impossible to use. He was, in a nut shell, a fire hazard.
And he looked like he'd been through the war. Because, I suppose, maybe he had.
He had witnessed it all...
The Break Ups. Harry Hot Tools was there for me when I went out on the town after a break up, desperately in search of some male attention. He was patient as I tried to copy some celebrity's perfect curls, wrapping even one-inch sections of my hair around him, burning myself along the way. He'd smile with me as we looked at the result, semi-effortless looking loose curls cascading down my back. But he also didn't judge if I threw my hair in a bun and cried on the couch for days, never once picking him up, never once attempting to do my hair.
My blow dryer on the other hand, he judged. He judged real bad.
The Flat Iron Phase. He understood my need for the sleek, bone-straight look (even though I was never that great at achieving it- see above). He didn't speak up went unused for so long that he collected cobwebs. He never complained or questioned. He just waited. He knew I'd be back. And I was.
The Engagement. He helped me style my mane when I was getting ready for what I'd later find out was the dinner where I'd get engaged. To think I almost wore a, gulp, ponytail.
The Wedding. He was just one of the girls in the bridal suite. There as one of my BFFs helped me do my own hair for the big day. He even understood when I didn't take him on my honeymoon. And even though I know he was throwing up in his mouth a little as I said it, he never once balked at the words air dry.
I'll miss Harry more than I can express. And if I didn't fear accidentally electrocuting myself or setting my house on fire, I probably would've held on to him a little longer. But after waiting the traditional mourning period for an inanimate object (one day), I replaced him. And he'd be rolling over in his grave if he knew just what I'd replaced him with....
Sherry Schmot Schmools.
Yes, she's a Hot Tools knock off. And female. But I was desperate. I couldn't find the real thing. I was with my baby and had limited time. Blah, blah. Excuses, excuses. But, well, I was in mourning. I'm sorry, Harry. I really am.
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