(no subject)
Looking in the body length mirror my smile fades and my heart drops. “I really need a change. Don’tcha think?” I asked out loud as if the figure in the mirror was actually listening. “Mom,” I yelled, not taking my eyes off the mirror and my flat brown hair. “Wanna dye my hair today?”
“No, not really. I’ve got a hundred things to do today.” That’s no surprise; she always has ‘a hundred things to do.’
“Fine! I’ll make Lizzie do it!” That’s my little sister. She’s twelve, loves to torment me, and would hopefully jump at the opportunity to mess with my hair. Finally pulling myself away from the mirror, I began my journey to persuade my sister. Knowing exactly where she’d be, I went for the family computer. Over the last year she has become one with the internet and a phone has grown out of the side of her head. She’s constantly instant messaging people and talking on the phone; amazingly at the same time.
“Hey kiddo,” I said in a sickly sweet sing-song tone.
“Hold on, my sister is talking to me,” she said to the phone while quickly minimizing all of the open instant messages on the computer screen. I don’t understand why she does that now; she never used to have a problem with me knowing about her life. It must be a pre-teen thing. After a few seconds she acknowledged my presence with a haughty “what.”
“I need someone to help me dye my hair. I was thinking about frosting it.”
“Why can’t Mom do it?”
“She’s got a hundred things to do” I said making sure to put emphasis on Mom’s favorite exaggeration. “And you know how she is on the weekend she becomes Mr. Clean’s wife. Please Peanut.”
“I’m kinda busy right now,” she stated coldly while the minimized boxes on the computer screen began to flash bright orange. “But I guess I could do it later. I dunno how to though.”
“That’s alright, just read in the instructions and I’ll help ya. Thanks!” I chirped and skipped out of the room. I was off to find my keys, purse and a few bucks from my mother.
“Mom, Lizzie said yes. Can I have some cash?” I said as fast as I could in hopes that my mom wouldn’t have time to register what I had just asked, but still give me money.
“You’ve got a job.” She yelled over the obnoxious scream of the vacuum cleaner.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I said looking like a deflated balloon. “I suppose I’ll use my debit card. See ya later!”
Thirty minutes later I was stumbling up the stairs of my basement into my pastel yellow kitchen, with a plastic Wal-Mart bag in hand. “I’m home,” I yelled over the rumble of my mom vacuuming the second floor hallway. “Fine, don’t say hello. See if I care,” I mumbled after tossing my purse and keys on the faux wood kitchen table.
With the bag still in hand, I made my way towards the computer yet again, hoping that my sister had finally torn herself away from the glowing screen. As I got closer to my destination the sounds of fingers pushing keys on a keyboard told me her exact coordinates.
“Hey Liz, I got the stuff. Ya ready?” I asked as meek as a mouse trying to get the cheese from a sleeping cat.
“Yeah hold on.” Again she minimized all the boxes on the screen, but this time she had managed to detach the phone from her face. She turned back to the computer screen and sat perfectly still. After a few seconds of awkward silence she turned around and hissed, “I said in a minute, okay? Go away.”
“Fine. I’ll be in the kitchen getting ready.” Once in the kitchen I gently set the bag down, and pulled the only wooden chair away from the table and placed in directly under the ugly light hanging from the bumpy ceiling. Having the greatest amount of light is very important when dealing with one’s appearance. Next I took the ‘Loreal Frosting Kit’ box out of the bag on the table, and began opening it. The instructional pamphlet was really just a massive piece of paper folded a thousand times like origami. Once I figured out how to open it, and where to actually start reading, I found that the instructions were easy to understand.
“No, not really. I’ve got a hundred things to do today.” That’s no surprise; she always has ‘a hundred things to do.’
“Fine! I’ll make Lizzie do it!” That’s my little sister. She’s twelve, loves to torment me, and would hopefully jump at the opportunity to mess with my hair. Finally pulling myself away from the mirror, I began my journey to persuade my sister. Knowing exactly where she’d be, I went for the family computer. Over the last year she has become one with the internet and a phone has grown out of the side of her head. She’s constantly instant messaging people and talking on the phone; amazingly at the same time.
“Hey kiddo,” I said in a sickly sweet sing-song tone.
“Hold on, my sister is talking to me,” she said to the phone while quickly minimizing all of the open instant messages on the computer screen. I don’t understand why she does that now; she never used to have a problem with me knowing about her life. It must be a pre-teen thing. After a few seconds she acknowledged my presence with a haughty “what.”
“I need someone to help me dye my hair. I was thinking about frosting it.”
“Why can’t Mom do it?”
“She’s got a hundred things to do” I said making sure to put emphasis on Mom’s favorite exaggeration. “And you know how she is on the weekend she becomes Mr. Clean’s wife. Please Peanut.”
“I’m kinda busy right now,” she stated coldly while the minimized boxes on the computer screen began to flash bright orange. “But I guess I could do it later. I dunno how to though.”
“That’s alright, just read in the instructions and I’ll help ya. Thanks!” I chirped and skipped out of the room. I was off to find my keys, purse and a few bucks from my mother.
“Mom, Lizzie said yes. Can I have some cash?” I said as fast as I could in hopes that my mom wouldn’t have time to register what I had just asked, but still give me money.
“You’ve got a job.” She yelled over the obnoxious scream of the vacuum cleaner.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I said looking like a deflated balloon. “I suppose I’ll use my debit card. See ya later!”
Thirty minutes later I was stumbling up the stairs of my basement into my pastel yellow kitchen, with a plastic Wal-Mart bag in hand. “I’m home,” I yelled over the rumble of my mom vacuuming the second floor hallway. “Fine, don’t say hello. See if I care,” I mumbled after tossing my purse and keys on the faux wood kitchen table.
With the bag still in hand, I made my way towards the computer yet again, hoping that my sister had finally torn herself away from the glowing screen. As I got closer to my destination the sounds of fingers pushing keys on a keyboard told me her exact coordinates.
“Hey Liz, I got the stuff. Ya ready?” I asked as meek as a mouse trying to get the cheese from a sleeping cat.
“Yeah hold on.” Again she minimized all the boxes on the screen, but this time she had managed to detach the phone from her face. She turned back to the computer screen and sat perfectly still. After a few seconds of awkward silence she turned around and hissed, “I said in a minute, okay? Go away.”
“Fine. I’ll be in the kitchen getting ready.” Once in the kitchen I gently set the bag down, and pulled the only wooden chair away from the table and placed in directly under the ugly light hanging from the bumpy ceiling. Having the greatest amount of light is very important when dealing with one’s appearance. Next I took the ‘Loreal Frosting Kit’ box out of the bag on the table, and began opening it. The instructional pamphlet was really just a massive piece of paper folded a thousand times like origami. Once I figured out how to open it, and where to actually start reading, I found that the instructions were easy to understand.