Tara was on stroke number 32.
By this point, her hair was smooth as silk, the strands snuggling against each other from the static of her brushing. If she were to toss her head to the side, she'd look just like one of those women in hair product commercials. Only, she'd have that crooked smile that she wasn't sure looked sincere enough, and she didn't have any makeup on, so maybe that made her seem like she really wasn't prepared enough. Should she put on lipstick?
She brushed some more until she was calm, then reached for her grandmother's crystal.