Cher hair and the faulty comb

When I was little my mom had the most gorgeous hair. Long, thick and really dark brown. Her hair used to cover her butt.
I wanted hair like my moms. but, no such luck. Nope, I ended up with the thick part but it was incredibly flyaway and curly and just a pain in the neck to get a comb through. Ask my mom, she'll tell you! I would see her coming at me with that comb and I would run screaming from the room!
But I digress, I was talking about my mom's hair. Big sister and I would fight over who got to brush mom's hair. She usually won because well...she could carry out a threat.
I used to lay on the couch and watch her comb mom's hair and seethe with jealousy. (Or, pout like the three-year-old I was, because I didn't know what seethe or jealousy meant.) I wanted more than anything to brush mom's hair but big sister always got there first.
One Sunday we were in church and big sister and I were being rather, let's say, "talkative" and mom had told us several times to settle down. Finally, she put big sister between Gramma and herself and me on her other side. I sat there swinging my legs back and forth scowling, when my mother reached into her purse and pulled out (sound of glorious music crescendos) her comb!
"Here, Jenny. You can comb my hair."
Oh happy day! I was finally getting to comb mom's hair! With nervous fingers I reached for the comb and clutched it in my little hand. I hugged it momentarily to my chest as I looked at my mom with adoring eyes. She grinned at me and winked, "Now don't pull my hair."
No, ma'am!
I ran the green comb through her hair from the scalp to the ends. It was smoother than I ever thought it would be. I started to comb more and more and her hair crackled with the static electricity in the dry church air. big sister stared angrily at me from between the Mom/Gramma cocoon.
Victory was mine!
As I sat there combing mom's hair I thought to myself. This would be really pretty if it was in ringlets like some of the girls on tv. Hey! I bet I can make ringlets! I wrapped the ends of her hair around the comb and rolled her hair up in the comb to just about her ear.
That should do it. I can unroll the comb and her hair will bounce with ringlets!
Tug.  Uh-oh.
Tug tug.
"Ouch! Jenny! What did you do?" Mom reached up and felt the comb wrapped very securely in her hair.
Oh lord. Now I did it.
Gingerly, mom tried to untangle the comb from her hair. Worse yet, it was wrapped in their so tightly she may have to cut it! I can't let mom do that! She would be like Samson without her hair!
Gramma leaned over and took a look. She looked at me but there was a twinkle in her eye. "Oh dear." Was all she said.
Mom turned her head toward Gramma and she started to very carefully unwind the comb hair by hair from mom's crowning glory. I really don't remember how long it took to get the comb out, as I had no sense of time. I just remember it taking through church and after and well into lunch. In three-year-old time, that was like 10 minutes.
Mom assures me it was MUCH longer.
Needless to say, I was no longer allowed to comb my mom's hair. In fact, I wasn't allowed to go NEAR her hair until I was almost 10.
Lesson learned? You need a curling iron for ringlets.