Hair Fight

She gathers her arms for her nightly fight to do battle with her hair, to “get it right” she’s been cursed with unruly, super fine hair that won’t cooperate and flies everywhere. Oh, to have thick, voluminous hair so sheik, so silky, so shiny and fair spun layers of gold, or deep auburn flair or lovely chestnut tones, “fabu-lair”! But, alas, unwanted whispy is she as she settles into her pin-curl “soirée” she wrestles her head scarf to keep it tight and prays it “stays put” while she sleeps at night. In the morning, her second round fight resumes unpinning her curls, knows they’ll fall flat real soon next comes the teasing, the crimping, the spray knowing the volume won’t last half a day. Then sighing, with hand mirror, checks every spot every turn, every angle, she does this a lot I wait for my mother to finish her hair If “it isn’t right” we’re not going anywhere!