Sorry, this must be one of those brushes for a bald man.
He laughed, sort of, his breath soursweet. At least he was up. He would remember this.
There. How’s that? He always asked. She never answered. It was lumpy. It would hurt to take the rubber band out and do it again. Mom always used a scrunchy. All Dad could find now were elastics, like the one that closed the oversized Walmart bag that held her Cheez Whiz on white. She knew the lunch monitor would help her with the elastic after she fixed her ponytail.