This has not been my day.
I woke up with bubble gum in my hair.
It was grape.
I went to sleep with it in my mouth.
I tried to comb it out but the comb didn't work!
I ended up cutting it out. The scissors worked better.
I looked in the mirror, my hair was lopsided.
So, I got the scicors and tried to make it straight. No such luck.
My little sister asked me if she could have the gum. I said gross.
I put on a hat and went downstairs for breakfast.
My dad was reading the newspaper and drinking orange juice.
My mom gave me a plate heaped with pancakes.
She said to take off my hat at the table. I hesantily took it off.
" Darcy Anne Jones, what in the world have you done to your hair? Dan, " My mom called my father, "Look at her hair."
My dad only glanced up from the newspaper and said, "It'll grow back."
My mom stared at him in disbelief...
and then ran up stairs.
"Darcy," my dad asked, "what did you do to your hair?"
" Cut it." I said.
"Well that's pretty obvious." my mom said when she fianally came back down," Go get ready for school, I'll take you to the beautition after school."
In math, Mrs. Carol fussed at me for not having my homework.
At recess, I got mud on my dress.
At home, I dropped my steak on the floor.
So, I didn't have any supper. Now, I am lying in my bed, starving, and thinking about my awful, horrible, miserable day.
A few notes:
- Okay, when I was in fourth grade, I was writing such heavy literature as "Dear Jenny, I Have Leukemia" -- okay, well, maybe I just TALKED about writing it (and it probably would've been heavily, um, inspired by Lurlene McDaniel's Six Months To Live had I actually written it)...then by the time I hit 7th grade, I've regressed to this? I don't wanna be criticizing the South Carolina public education system in the late eighties, BUT....
- I actually would protest that I must've been eight or nine when I wrote this, but it is typed and saved to a disk and we didn't get a computer until I was in junior high, so.
- My mom tells me that once I DID get bubble gum caught in my hair so perhaps this was partially autobiographical.
- I don't know what Darcy's mom's reason was for running up the stairs, but I'd love to hear your theories. Perhaps she's too busy to get in a proper workout so she just fits in bursts of cardio activity whenever she can?
- Obviously plot development was not my forte as a young writer, as I introduced a conflict (her hair's all whack) and never resolved it in the story, but please take a careful gander at the Darcy-crying-over-the-loss-of-her-beloved-Tbone illo...note the nice new 'do and you'll see that 34 year old Kathy accomplished what 12 year old (?) Kathy could not. Darcy's mom DID take her to the "beautition" after school.
- Darcy, the whole steak-on-the-floor thing would've totally been my breaking point, too, kid.
- Sadly, this is the last of fiction I have uncovered written by Young!Kathy, so I suppose I will have to move on to illustrating bad poetry written by Angst-Ridden!Lovesick-Over-Unrequited-Crushes!College!Kathy now. Consider yourself warned. And. Run. For. Your. Lives.
- But if you've not had enough of my tweeny brilliance, you can go back and read (or read for the first time) the thrilling, chilling epic "The Night Of The Cobra".
Tomorrow on 5 or 6 Kathys: The Making Of Spiffy (the Jones' family's steak-lovin' pooch)!