“I’m Really Sorry, Please Take These Twinkies!”

We might as well have needed to climb Mount Everest. Jessica wouldn’t let Donna or me brush it, yet she wouldn’t do it herself. She was crying, Donna was frustrated, I was screaming. At last I flung the hairbrush onto the couch, only a couple feet from where Jessica was sitting, and said, “Fine, then I’ll just take you to school with your hair looking like that! Let’s go!”

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