Ninety percent of the time I spent at my Grandma Lill's house was fantastic - helping her bake, learning to sew, and when I was old enough, she let me watch her "stories" (soap operas) with her. But that other ten percent of the time, well...
I was a little kid with goofy hair. It was fine, but thick, and Grandma hated looking at it. To call it "unruly" would be an understatement. Most of the time, she let it slide, but one day, she decided to show me how nice it could look with a "little" work.
To stop my incessant complaining ("that stuff stinks," "I want to go watch TV," "Stop it, Grandma!" and, of course, "OW!!") she let me play with a few of her rollers - we called them Spaceship Rollers, but the real name for them is Spoolies, probably for more obvious reasons. These were soft, pliable, rubbery curlers. A section of hair would be rolled in the middle, and then each end would flip back toward the middle, creating a spaceship sort of shape, and securing the hair.
Hours later, she finally took all those miserable little spaceships out of my hair. I was left with a head FULL of curls so tight and crispy that neither brush nor comb would get through them, and hair bigger than any 1970s rock star ever had! Grandma looked a little shocked - I started to bawl - and when my mother came to pick me up, I hid on the floor of the back seat all the way home, and immediately stuck my head back in the sink to rectify this terrible situation.
On a positive note, Grandma Lill never tried to fix my hair again. Instead, she turned her attention to my little sister, who was not nearly as fast as I was after that.