Blog 16: Pre-Draft Essay

Little girls usually did what their mom’s told them to, and they almost all of the time listened to their grandmom’s whether they wanted to or not. But there was one thing that they didn’t like sitting still for; and that was getting their hair done. When her mom said, “It’s time to get your hair done,” they would go running in the other direction. When they finally sat down, it became serious when she saw the utensils sitting on the floor and the pillow she had to sit on the floor with; the comb, moisturizer, and the hair bows. First she had to go to the sink and get her hair washed. It was the worst when she got even a little bit of water in her eyes mixed; and don’t let any soap be in it. There was one little girl I knew that had coarse hair and was tender-headed at that. The grownups used to say, “You don’t have no business having all that hair and being tender-headed.” She used to think, “Well that’s just how I was made. What do you want me to do about it?” When it was time for her to get her hair washed and dries her grandmother did it for her. She would sit her in a hard brown wooden chair with the towel that she dried her hair with. She had a big yellow comb that she parted, combed, and popped her with if she moved. There was nothing about that comb that this little girl liked, and she could think of more reasons of why she didn’t like her grandmother. The smell of the dryer going through her greased hair was so distinctive. While her grandmom did her hair she would squirm around a lot, but less than she did with her mother. As soon as she got popped with the comb she would get a quick sharp pain that would remind her it’s probably best to sit still for as long as she could, while she was thinking about how much pain she was going through on her head, and mama didn’t care. That’s what she called her; mama. Getting her hair done felt like the worst thing she ever had to go through, but when it was done it looked so pretty. She would stand in front of the mirror and swing her long hair from left to right until she thought it was time to stop. She wasn’t vein, because she know what that meant; she just liked looking pretty.