I don't hold my hairbrush by the handle.
When I was young I got gum stuck in my hair. Peanut butter is the solution, but it doesn't always cut it. To my recollection scissors had to cut the rest. I lost the handle to that hairbrush when my mother's frustration collided with the tile floor.
I'm not complaining.
But there was a gap in time from that day to the day when I received a replacement hairbrush, complete with handle. I'd been palming the brush and that grip had reached the point of normalcy.
I like smaller brushes that can fit in the palm of my hand. And I never hold the handle.
 The point of the story is not to complain about childhood. I re-wrote the line about how my mom threw the brush on the floor because she was frustrated to make it sound poetic and not like I’m bitter about the situation.
The part I’m bitter about is my own tendency to settle, readjust and compromise. It’s over twenty years later and because I got gum in my hair once, I will always hold my hairbrush with a different grip. Talk about ripples in the pond.