The day I turned seven, a woman with blonde hair came and visited the orphanage. When I saw her I went to put on my blue dress. I curled my ear-length brown hair. It never grew back a centimeter since the incident. I put on my fancy-looking socks, and shined my black shoes and wore them.
I walked past her, and she grabbed me.
"You look beautiful enough if we put some makeup on you and add extensions to that hair. Come with me."
Nervous, I followed her.
"I want her. " the woman told Mrs. Carnegie, our home leader.
"Take her."
I was ecstatic. I packed my stuff immediately. I had never had an actual permanent parent.
One month later, I went home with the lady. Her name was Britt, but she said to call her mother.
The first day I was in her care, she put a mask on me, and quickly took me to her, my, house. She took off my green tee and jeans, and grabbed an orange sparkly cupcake dress that looked like it costed a million bucks. She told me to put it on.
She then sat me in a chair, and for an hour put makeup all over my face, fake eyelashes and everything.
After this, we headed to a salon. They made me sign my name. I wrote Susanna (with a capital S).
They then placed me in a chair. After 45 minutes of tugging, she was finished.
"My masterpiece is complete" said the hairdresser.
I looked in the mirror, and my hair looked long and plastic.
I looked like a 24-year old Barbie doll, when in reality I was 7.
After this, we headed back home, and mother placed me in a tanning booth.
It wasn't very pleasant. When I came out, I felt orange.
Mother put my clothes and makeup back on, and then added heels extremely tall. It felt impossible to walk like this.
When I laid in bed, I felt miserable. I had to come up with a plan. I'd rather be susana with a lowercase s.
