Shampoo

Long, yet no so long tresses. That fell on her neck and the sides of her ear lobes- with the earrings barely visible. Thick strands of hair; not black- brown, or rather the colour of rust- that was the colour of her hair. Hair up until her waistline- that was the length. 

Shampoo: She loved shampooing. Neatly oiled hair- with oil soaking in every strand of her hair like pickle; for a couple of hours. Each time a new bottle of shampoo was bought she would make up a reason in her mind to wash her hair at the earliest. For the mere love of trying the new product out- same was the case with all toiletries- face wash, soap, toothpaste too! A ridiculous craving to try out something new. 

She loved reading the description about the shampoo- what it would do to her hair when applied. She had been shampooing since time immemorial. Yet each time a shampoo was bought, she would hold the bottle in her hands against droplets of water from the overhead shower and read instructions to rinse with a girlish delight. Wiping out the water off the wet bottle of shampoo with her already moist hands, much to her fancy, she believed to this date, that the shampoo would exactly do what is written on the back of the bottle. She would also diligently read the French bit on these bottles. Most of these bottles carry instruction and some advertising matter in French as well perhaps because the language is as popular or even more widely spoken than English. She had a quaint craze for checking out packaging and manufacturing details- the place of manufacture, the place of packaging, and who marketed it. How did it matter anyway now that she was a already a buyer of the product? Ah some gobbledygook reason. Inexplicable. 

Once washed, she would collect strands of her hair together, and hold it like how a bunch of coriander or spinach is held, and smell it until its tip; run her fingers across the texture of her hair and test if the instructions on the shampoo had indeed worked! 

Silliness, a lathery indulgence it was.