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I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN not to believe my mother when she said she'd let me pick out what I wanted to do with my hair. I should have trusted that feeling in my gut the moment she even suggested that I could tell Mrs. Miller down at the hair salon what I wanted her to do. But I didn't and now I'm stuck with this...porcelain doll-like, looking hair with big, tight curls and wispy bangs. It was definitely different from what I had requested and was ultimately denied by my mother, which was simply just a few inches cut off my ends, that was it. My mother often got her way, especially when it came to how I dressed. I guess I don't blame her, really. She was a former pageant queen who had a dream of having a big family of little girls she could dress up in frilly dresses and bond at salons. Instead, reality threw her the twist of blessing her with two boys, and a girl who resented just about anything frilly and pink.
It didn't stop her from dressing me up the way she wanted though. Look at my baby pictures and man oh man, frills galore. As I got older though, I argued back, getting her to relax a little on the girly clothes– but as I said before, she always found a way to get exactly what she wanted. That was the main reason why I missed my older brother, Alexander. He was seven years older than Theodore and I, but he rarely ever treated us like we were his annoying little siblings. If anything, Alexander was the only one who ever stood up to my mom whenever she would get wound up too tight about something I did that she deemed was 'too unladylike.' And he often called her out on the moments she treated me differently than she treated him and Theodore. But ever since he went off to University, there hasn't been anyone to call her out on her overbearing behavior. Sure, my dad says something from time to time, but it's not the same as when Alexander would.
"Elizabeth, stop making that face. You'll have wrinkles by the time you're 21 and that's just not a good look for a young lady." My mom said, turning off the car ignition. "You'll be using wrinkle cream before you're 30 and well, you wouldn't want that would you."
"You've been using wrinkle cream for years," I mumbled, unbuckling my seatbelt.
"What was that?"
"Nothing mom."
"You know how I feel about mumbling. How is anybody supposed to understand you if all you do is mumble under your breath?" She opened her car door and unbuckled her seatbelt. "It's not very ladylike, you know."
I turned my head so she wouldn't see me roll my eyes. That was always her reasoning for disliking something that I did. I opened my car door and got out, shutting it behind me as she grabbed some of the grocery bags from the backseat. Before I could even manage to make it to the front door, she had cleared her throat, insinuating that she wanted me to carry one of the bags. I sighed and grabbed the bag she was holding out to me, holding it in my arms as she shut the door and walked towards the front door.
The front door to our house swung open and Theo rushed out, almost bumping right into me. "Theodore Hastings! Be careful will you?" My mom groaned, adjusting her grip on the two bags she was holding.
