Everywhere I look, I see them.
They are on the bathroom floor, the arm of a chair, by the TV, in the back of my car.
They disappear often and need replacing.
My husband moans about them. They are untidy, they are messy. She should put them away.
But I love to see them.
They are a reminder that I have a daughter.
A daughter with long hair.
A daughter who loves endlessly styling and re-styling her beautiful hair.
A daughter who is a ballerina.
A daughter who leaves a trail of hairgrips wherever she goes.
I will miss them when they’re not there any more.
When my daughter is all grown up.
When she cuts her hair or stops styling it.
When she leaves home.
When she (God forbid!) stops dancing.
So I won’t moan about the mess they make.
I love those hairgrips.
On the bathroom floor, the arm of a chair, by the TV, in the back of my car.
Because, without them, my daughter wouldn’t really be me daughter.