Frizzy
O MARIE OF the frizzy hair: how she stood in the mirror above the dresser, waiting for the afternoon sunlight of summer to filter through the gauzy white drapes that sighed each time the breeze tiptoed in. She hated the way her orange-red hair tufted out in kinks. So frizzy! Ugh. It was like a bramble turned up all inside, like the claws hidden in a cat’s paw. She could use only a wide-toothed comb. Anything else clawed at her hair, and the resulting effort made her hair looked as if still singed on fire. She couldn’t have enough hats and always managed to get an employee’s discount on new ones at Ann’s West End Hats where she worked as a salesclerk. A recent graduate of St. Ambrose High School, she dreamed of having straight hair just like her sister Louise’s, who hadn’t yet enter
