Hairbrush story

Once upon a time, when I was a younger girl, I met a man who sang sweetly. And we had a magical bizarre evening. The next morning, he said something perfect: how he wanted to write music about me, how I was special. I jumped up, I had had my legs draped across his lap, and vocalized how I must find a hairbrush. As you all know, I am not a coiffed chick, I find it a nuisance to take care of and wish it would just cooperate on its own. I never care about brushing it really and shrug/deal. But I jumped up because I always just miss getting what I want, it's been half a century of that now postscript in total. And what he spoke to I longed for: to inspire something more beautiful by being me. To have an impact that could make music I could not. Now that I've stopped running away, finally trapped, all I see for miles are hairbrushes and wonder if only the joke is on me.