It was picture day. The weather man said that it would be snowing all day (yep, another day of frizzy goodness...not). I splash on some more anti-frizz spray and iron my hair flat. I was already late and the air smelled like hair spray and singed-hair. I couldn't realy see what time it was because I was too busy taming my hair, but my mom hd already left for work so it was pretty late.
This year I had to look OK. Last year my hair looked like it was dragged across the desert, dumped into water and then electrocuted... basicallyit wasn't pretty. My friends all straigtened their hair for picture day. Oh, yeah, I'm really proud of being curly/wavy/frizzy/i don't even know what-haired.
I was imagining my grandparent's face when they saw my finally pretty photo. And how my sister can't tease me anymore. Something really smelled like burning plastic. My face was hot. I kept ironing my hair, pressing the iron harder and harder. Blasting the music higher (I was already late anyways). Something was definitely burning now. I was finally done with my hair. I wipe the mist off the mirror and almost fainted. Black. Shriveled. Singed. It looked like I haven't washed my hair in days, it looked like... positively, definitely worse thna last year.
No comments:
Post a Comment