Move Over, Medusa, We Got Ya’ Beat!

First Grade School Picture

Repost of an old post few people saw

To curly-haired people Mother might have seemed mild-mannered enough, but beneath her calm exterior she nursed a sadistic streak, committing home permanents with malice aforethought, ignoring her helpless daughters’ protests that “I like my hair this way.” and “nobody but old ladies has THAT kind of hair.” squashing arguments

Hairdo

Bud just hates it when he hears I am going to get my hair done.  He claims, “I love your hair just the way it is.” Then he looks real quick just in case I ask him how “it is.”  We both know it’s the money hairdos cost. I asked him today what kind of hairdo he didn’t like.  He could only think of one, mentioning a woman who shaves her head.  I guess I won’t try that one.

Medusa, 1960

This is to thank Writer in Soul.  https://writerinsoul.wordpress.com/  I love her posts, especially about things men have said to her.  Please check out her excellent blog.  It is sure to keep you entertained.  I will always be grateful to Writer in Soul for being kind enough to like and comment on my first post.  Of course, when I posted it I was worried that no one would be interested in anything I had to say.  Thank you so much!

First Grade School Picture

To curly-haired people Mother might have seemed mild-mannered enough, but beneath her calm exterior she nursed a sadistic streak, committing home permanents with malice aforethought, ignoring her helpless daughters’ protests that “I like my hair this way.” and “nobody but old ladies have THAT kind of hair.” squashing arguments with a terrifying

Move Over, Medusa, We Got Ya’ Beat!

First Grade School Pictur

To curly-haired people Mother might have seemed mild-mannered enough, but beneath her calm exterior she nursed a sadistic streak, committing home permanents with malice aforethought, ignoring her helpless daughters’ protests that “I like my hair this way.” and “nobody but old ladies has THAT kind of hair.” squashing arguments

Mother Tried to Raise Me Right

Church was hard on me Church clothes were designed by the devil. My mom made fancy dresses with twirly skirts, puffy sleeves, lace, fancy collars, and gigantic sashes that tied in the back in a big bow. Just in case I might get a little comfortable, she starched and ironed them till they were so stiff they could stand alone. Getting ready for church started Saturday night with a bath and hair washing. No problem with that. The trouble started when Mother got out the hair pins and tissue paper. She clamped me between her knees