My brush on a block

It's 7:50 in the morning, and I am looking all over our house for the hair brush. Yep, 'the' hair brush. In a house of three women, we have one. And it seems that 7 days out of ten, I, the one bald man in the house, spend my mornings looking for it.

Eunjoo and Lucy have already left, and Lisa is trying to get ready for school. I'm convinced that Lucy has taken the one brush with her to school, so send her a text asking if she knows where it is.

"I couldn't find it this morning either."

I've asked before, from my knees while looking under the couch, if maybe we shouldn't have some more brushes. "We already have one," explains me wife. "We don't need more things."

"Screw it!" I go out to get another brush.

E-Mart 24, the e-Mart licensed 24-hour convenience store by our house doesn't open until 9am. Good thing there is a GS 25, which is one better than an E-Mart 24. It is open. I go in and get a brush and a comb.

I go to the front to pay. The cashier says nothing, but I ask "What was that?"

"Nothing," he shrugs.

" 'Why does a bald man need a brush?' " I accuse him, "It's none of your damned business!"

"I didn't say anything."

"I heard you think it!"

I leave; he apologises as I walk out mumbling about fancy people with their fancy full heads of hair and their fancy 24 hour a day jobs having the nerve to make fun of the every man.

I get back home and give Lisa the brush. While she starts brushing her hair, I recall that my high-school Computer Science teacher had a solution for things that tend to go missing. He chained his stapler and his three hole punch, and I think maybe a hair brush, to a huge bright green hunk of wood. High school students don't always appreciate a great idea, and rather than admiring the sensible solution, took it as a challenge to make the whole hunk of wood misplace itself in the most conspicuous spots. Myself now challenged with the trial of the ever disappearing brushes, I at last understand this as the perfect solution.

The brush isn't the only thing that goes missing either. Chaining the kitchen scissors, the brush, and the cat to the microwave, I take Lisa to school.